He pressed the button on the intercom, calling for his secretary.
“And tell the floor that we are not to be disturbed. I have a lot of things to cover with you this morning,” he finished, his voice curt. As always, she mused. You’d think after two months of being Mr. Chisolm’s personal secretary that he’d have warmed up a little bit. But no, always business as usual. Taking up her notepad, a pen and a spare, and her laptop, she duly passed on his message to not under any circumstances disturb them.
“What if the building catches fire?” quipped her pal, Marcy. Pert, brunette, slender, she’d occasionally had serious body envy over her friend’s slender form. Not that she minded being round. She’d rather forgo exercise than ice cream, and was overall comfortable in her skin. Even if there was a lot of it. But Marcy, well she was damned near model-perfect. Damn her!
“Well, I’d suppose–no, I know–he’d rather perish in a fire while working than stop to evacuate the building.”
She barked out a laugh, accompanied by Marcy’s perfect little giggle. Seriously, if Marcy wasn’t such a good friend, she’d absolutely hate her for being so frigging perfect. Smoothing her long dark skirt over her soft belly, she took a deep breath. Standing before his door, she took another deep breath, knocked once, then stepped inside.
He looked different today. His jacket hung on the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was standing at the large window behind his desk, looking all ’50 shades-like‘ she mused. Not that she’d enjoyed the movie overmuch, but that guy who’d played the main man, he’d been hot. Not as hot as her boss though. The Boss, well, he had a tremendous ass. She paused for just a moment, looking at it, before quietly shutting the door.
He turned at the soft snick. Leaning over his desk, he depressed a button. She gave a little start of surprise at the chink sound behind her butt as the door locked.
“Come here Mae. Stop hovering around the door.”
Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the door, and into his office proper. The room simply overwhelmed. The space was designed to be Spartan, an ode to working with minimal distractions. It was spacious, and cleverly divided into two clear sections, the ‘let’s do business’ area, and the ‘entertainment’ area where clients could sit and relax and not feel quite so intimidated as they would facing that imposing man behind that imposing desk.
His desk was enormous. Long, sleek, it was the antithesis of what she privately called the “comfort side” of the room. A single thick slab of stone rested on twisted iron-worked legs. The stone, dark as night, had flecks within that glittered in the sunlight. The pen he favored, of light marbled stone lay on his day-planner beside his phone, the only objects on the desk. His own chair was sleek, yet designed for comfort. Thickly padded black leather, the kind that she knew one would sink deep into, with man-sized arms were juxtaposed by sleek metal framework.
The wall behind her, which surrounded the entrance door, was thick glass blocks. It was soundproof, yet opaque. Through the blocks, light and color moved and flowed as people in the outer offices walked around. She often thought of that glass wall as a living kaleidoscope. It added a dimension to a room that might otherwise be stark serenity.
On the far side of the room, his minimalist leanings were softened by a plush couch, comfortable chairs gathered around a sturdy low table. The table was a thick slab cut from a wide tree, supported by a section of trunk. It appeared that the table had simply sprouted from the floor.
Lamps of all shapes and sizes gave off a pleasant glow, and a small forest of green plants created the illusion of outdoor space. Relaxing, inviting, this space could be closed off with the push of a button. A thin bamboo wall would slide silently from the walls, and leave one with just the utilitarian side of his working space.
She never failed to be impressed at he overwhelming beauty of his space. Her “office”, a small half-circle of stone blocks separating her from the rest of the group on the Bosses Floor was an open area. Though it was open in concept, file drawers lining the wall behind her, papers lined up in wire baskets needing her attention, pens and pencils and notepads littered the surface of her own desk. This? Well, this was an oasis.
“Come. Here. So much wool-gathering today.”
She snapped out of her reverie. Wool gathering? Who said that in this day and age? Spaced, yeah, she’d definitely spaced, but wool-gathering? Sheesh.
“Yes, Mr.Chisolm, sorry. Your office is so…” her voice trailed off, even as her hand waved to take in the expanse.
“So?” His left eyebrow shot up. For a moment she regretted her temerity. She’d only been here a few months. Well fuck it. It was time for him to see her as a person, and not just a robot.
“So beautiful. Peaceful. Verrrry different from the place out there. You know, where you have 10 people working and trying to be professional while everyone can hear everyone else’s conversations. You know–barely controlled chaos?”
His right eyebrow rose to match the other. She refused to buckle under the stare, but her knees shook just a bit. She’d had no idea that was inside her, poised to erupt from her startled lips. Her eyes widened a bit even as she held back the cliched need to bite her lip.
“Is that so? How it is that no one else has brought this to my attention?”
“Maybe because you’re closeted in here and don’t take time to notice?”
Geezuz. He was gonna fucking fire her now. She just knew it. In for a penny, she thought, and taking a quick breath, continued.
“We all figure you just don’t give a fuck.”
“Touche. That puts me very neatly in my place, doesn’t it? The typical boss who works his employees down in the trenches whilst he sits in an ivory tower.”
She waved her hand and smirked just a little.
“You’re a smartass, aren’t you?”
“No Sir. Well, yes Sir, kind of. Look, I’ve not worked here for as long as the others, and you did promote me over staffers who’ve been here for decades. And some of them hate me for it, and I don’t care. I know you picked me for my skills, and if I’m going to be a good secretary for you, I have to be fully honest with you. So I guess you can fire me for my speaking out of line, or you can just accept that this is how I am and we can work together more effectively.”
There was a bare hint of a smile on his face.
“I do appreciate effective workmanship. I’ll look into this. I’m not going to fire you. I told you when I hired you that I’d work you hard.”
“You did, yes. And you have. I’ve worked my ass off for you, Sir.”
“I hope not.”
His head canted to one side as he looked pointedly at her hip. She giggled, yet flushed, too.
“Well, I could stand to lose a few pounds off my ass, so no worries there, Sir.”
“I like your ass just as it is, actually. Now come, sit here.”
He pointed to his desk. She began to sit on one of the bronze chairs at the front of his desk. They were lovely to look at but frightfully uncomfortable–for a purpose, she supposed. He always had people he didn’t particularly want to meet with sit in them, which often kept the conversation brief. They were either cold and hard, or warm and hard, depending on the time of the day and the sunshine-on-metal factor.
“Not there.” He twirled his finger, indicating that she should move around to his side of the desk. What the fuck? she mused. He was going to have her sit in his chair? No he was not….
He pointed her to the edge of the desk.
“Sit your butt here.”
“On your desk.”
“On the edge.” His head canted to the side again, a look she found particularly attractive. Likely he knew that, too. Boyish, charming, cute. She knew he knew that she was now quite nervous. She took a breath, seeking calm, as she lifted one buttock onto his desk.
“All the way up. There you go.”
He stepped closer, placing his hands on her thighs.
“If you say ‘no’ this stops.”
Her heart raced, all those fantasies of him doing something like this to which she masturbated many nights flashing through her brain. Was she sleeping and dreaming all this? The warmth of his palms dispelled that thought. The husky whisper of his voice, his eyes looking deeply into hers assured her that she was indeed awake.
“Spread those luscious thighs, sweet Mae,” he directed. Hands dropped to her ankles, his body between her legs. She felt her skirt rising, the quick brush of thick fingers on her stocking-less skin.
“So warm. So soft.”
The words slipped out of her mouth. She almost bit her tongue at the look he slashed at her.
“You are fat. Soft, warm, pillowy. I love the feeling of a soft woman. Sure, thin girls are pretty to look at, but give me a woman I can lay upon and not be pierced by bones at every position. I want a woman I can pinch and suckle upon, someone who, when I tie her up and she squirms and wriggles, gives me the pleasure of all that flesh to sink into. So you’re fat…but you’re also beautiful. Smart. Kind. Sexy. I want you. Want to slide my mouth between your generous legs and taste your cunt. Want to nurse against your clit, want to fuck your gorgeous tits. I know you have those….”
He paused a moment.
“Urges?” she offered. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Proclivities. You like to be used. Fucked. Tied. Forced. You like to be dominated. You like to be spanked upon the wide terrain of your ass. Say it. Tell me you want that, you naughty little slut.”
How the fuck had he found that out? For a moment, panic fought for control. Her throat slammed shut and she could not have said a word. His eyes held her as firmly as a pin holds a butterfly to a canvas.
“I profile all my employees..and certainly the one I choose to be my personal secretary. You will find all the inner workings of my company, of myself. You’ll be in and out of my office, and eventually, my home. You will be my most trusted companion, my confidante, my helper. Of course I would discover your most interesting secrets. You had a dom…several in point of fact, but no one recently. You have an active sex life, and have a favored club to visit when you’re in the mood for some action.”
Points for him for not saying “scratch an itch”, which always felt demeaning. What she did and who she was wasn’t the hugest secret in the world, but it wasn’t something she put on her resume.
“Okay,” she finally said. “All of that is true. I–do not have a dom, and I do have …certain…needs. But what does that–”
Her words were cut off with a gasp as he sank fingers into her pussy.
“Do go on,” he urged, his smile wolfish.
She gasped, swallowing air and spit and coughing. His fingers diddled inside of her, hooking up and rubbing her spot. She moaned, long and low.
“Please,” he smiled at her, “do continue. You–?”
A quick shudder rolled through her as his fingers brought her to a swift orgasm. It had been a while since a guy had his fingers in her snatch. Head thrown back, legs clamped around his hand, she arched, shuddering as her cunt clutched his fingers and spurted.
“There’s a good slut.”
His free hand reached up, grasping her hair, tugging her forward. It pushed his fingers deeper into her, continuing the rippling sensations surging through her. His voice became a growl as his mouth moved across her cheek, rested against her ear.
“Come for me, come hard for me, slut.”
Ever the good secretary, she complied.
“Up off the desk,” he said.
It was the first words spoken in some time; after kissing, after fingers in her pussy and ass drove her up and over the edge two more times. She leaned back, braced on her arms, eyes closed, feeling the presence, the warmth of him, between her thighs. With a blink, she looked at him, and smiled.
Shimmying her bottom off of the desk, she pressed closer and closer to him. She could feel the hard press of his cock through her skirt, through his dress pants. If her pussy could purr, it would be, she mused. Not sated, only stirred to a greater need, she could feel the wetness growing. Licking her lips, she wondered when, if, he would fuck her. His cock felt enormous.
“All the way down. On your knees.”
A shivery thrill ran up her spine. How she loved to be dominated! How much she wanted his cock in her mouth.
“Hands behind your back. That’s right.”
She had no idea where the short length of rope had materialized from, but in moments he had it wrapped around her wrists. She watched as he removed his pants, meticulously folding them over the back of his chair. He sat, the bulge of his shaft pressing hard against his underwear.
“Use your mouth. Take out my cock, and lick it. Nothing more, understood?”
She nodded. His foot rose, his shoe nudged hard under her right breast.
“OW!” She gasped as he nudged her again, harder, and began pressing the tip of his dress shoe against her nipple.
“Correct address is very important. Tell me you understand my order, do not nod at me like a bobblehead.”
“Yes Sir,” she replied, “yes I understand. No tasting your delicious cock, just take it out so I can see it, and then lick it like a lollipop.”
“Cheeky slut,” he replied, amused.
“Yes Sir,” she replied, grinning up at him. Her tit throbbed as he continued to press against her, despite her compliance. She began to understand the challenge presented. He was not going to move his foot, and she’d have to press into it, hurting herself, to succeed in the task. How fucking devious.
Still flying high on endorphin’s. Still woozy from orgasms. Still shocked from the circumstances surrounding both, still feeling the sharp ache in her tit from the toe of his shoe, she tried to compose herself.
She hadn’t realized that she’d been trying to do so with her eyes closed. Or that she was slumped on the floor between his feet, her skirt hiked up over her capacious hips, baring her silken panties and wide thighs to his gaze. Blinking, she looked up at him.
She tried to sound her usual brisk and confident self, but even to her own ears she sounded more timid than sure.
“Get up off the floor, girl, and crawl over to the table.”
She blinked at him a few more times, before his lip curved into a half-smile.
“Now, girl. Stop dawdling. I haven’t got all day to fuck you, you know.”
Another blink. It was going to take some getting used to, this new side of her boss. Without thinking, she moved to all fours, then twitched down the hem of her skirt. His foot curved up quickly around her throat.
“No no, skirt up. Back ’round your middle. I want to watch that bum moving as you crawl.”
Heat flushed up from her cheeks, splotching her neck and chest. He couldn’t see it now, but she cringed as well. Sure and here it would come, the humiliation as he watched her fat ass, like two pigs fighting under a blanket–as a cruel lover had once said of her bottom–, while she made her way across the big expanse. It seemed to grow exponentially further away, like a football field, but with better carpeting.
“Very nice. That soft pink color is very attractive with your skin tone. Does the bra match?”
Her head, which had been hanging low, rose fractionally.
She froze. His footfalls were silent on the thick flooring. But she felt him as he drew near, the infinitesimal change in the air, the sudden flushing of heat between her thighs. Her cunt sure knew when he was coming closer. His hand slid across the silky expanse of the fabric.
“Very, very nice. I very much like.”
His fingers curved over the round cheeks; she had to admit it felt good. Still, she waited for the dreadful words about the expanse of her ass, the wide target–any of it. But the words didn’t come. Just the stroking of his hands until a sudden sharp slap made her jolt.
He pulled her panties down, a finger traced along the mark he’d made on her butt.
“A near perfect imprint.”
She could hear the smile in his voice as he tugged her panties back up. The heat from the mark seemed to burn off her embarrassment, seemed to flick the “on” switch on her pussy. Feeling the surge of wetness slicking her lower lips, she flushed again. There was no way he’d fail to notice the damp splotch there. Kneeling there, she was exposed — her ass and her need.
The table was suddenly there, right in front of her. How had she crossed that space so quickly? Spending too much time thinking about him looking at you, wondering if he saw that your pussy is begging to be fucked, her inner voice cackled at her.
“Turn around, up on your knees and sit back on your heels. Time for me to unwrap you.”
She felt the jangle of nerves. He’d see her. Really see her, her monstrous tits, her round belly, her ferociously wide hips…he’d see it all.
“I…I’m not sure that I….” she paused, licking her bottom lip. “…can.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“Can’t sit on your heels? Can’t what? Speak up girl.”
Her eyes welled, but she refused to let a single tear spill over. Rising awkwardly to her feet, she advanced on him, finger pointing at him. She moved until she was a half-step from him, poking his tie with her accusing digit.
“This is a joke, isn’t it?”
“Later you’ll get together with your other friends and laugh about the fat girl you teased about fucking, and then mocked instead.”
Her breath hitched, as her finger drilled into his chest.
“You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
“This is —-just the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me, and trust me there’s been a lot of fat girl jokes and comments in my life.” Her breath hitched, that one fucking tear fell with a slow roll down her cheek.
He looked at her as he took her hand, swallowed it in his larger one. If this was a book she was writing, she would have used the word “implacable” or maybe “unsparing” to describe that look. There wasn’t humor on his face, nor anger. His eyes looked at her, and though it was so fucking cliche, into her. She felt he was boring a hole through her brain, reading her, before piercing the wall behind her head, Superman-like.
“Stop.” He said, and shook her hand with its single finger still poking through his fist. His grip was firm, but not painful.
“You don’t know me.”
His tone was soft, as if gentling a wild beast. His hand rose, cupping her cheek, as his finger, still scented with her cunt, wiped away the solitary tear.
Well, truer words, she wanted to say, but something, the sincerity perhaps, kept her still.
“I don’t play games of that nature. If you’re not attracted to me–all evidence to the contrary–” he waved his free hand back towards his desk. The gesture made her blush, remembering how she gushed into his hand when those long, talented digits were buried inside of her.
“…then say so and I’ll leave you to go about your normal duties of filing and typing and whatever else you do at my behest.”
He paused a fraction of a second, but didn’t give her time to reply.
“I like you just fine, just the way you are. So you’re fat. It’s not like I couldn’t see it, after all, just as I can clearly see your flame-colored hair. It is, your size I mean, certainly and clearly a part of your appeal for me. I don’t particularly care if you understand–it’s my choice whom I’m attracted to after all, and I’m not going to make apologies or explanations for it. I like you round. I like your big fat tits. I like your big fat ass. I like your big, fat–”
“I get the picture,” she interjected, her tone droll. “You like fat chicks. Whatever. So once you’re done, I get sent back to the typing pool until you find another fatty?”
Her tone was caustic with anger, and a sudden, horrible embarrassment.
“You have a low sense of your value.”
He paused again. Before he could speak, she jumped into the silence.
“No. I don’t. In point of fact, I worked extremely hard to get to that chair outside your office. You noticed my work quality before I ever put my ‘fat ass’ into the chair behind that wall. You didn’t know me, didn’t know I was fat, didn’t know–” Her mouth opened, closed as the reality of what she was saying clicked.
“Precisely,” he said a bit smugly. “I did not promote you so that I had access to your fat ass.”
Staring at him, she began to feel a little bit small–a neat trick for a fat chick, she thought with an inward grimace.
“Damn you for making me feel small.”
“I didn’t make you feel anything…except for over there.” Cocking his head back towards his desk, he grinned at her blush. “And if you “feel small” then you’ll understand that all your protestations are simply foolish. Shall we move on?”
She sucked in a breath, but was unsure exactly what to say.
“I’m a dumbass” was certainly appropriate, but she didn’t want to leave herself open for mocking. Not that he seemed to be that type. But she did feel like a moron. She settled on the next most appropriate response.
“Twenty-two minutes.” He paused, looking at her. “That’s how long you’ve been in here, and though some of that was used when I was exploring your lovely, moist pussy, most of that was taken up with your little snit about your size. I don’t expect to revisit this, understood? I like you for who you are and what you are and your size doesn’t change that at all. I expect you to think long and hard as to whether you can continue with me knowing this. If you cannot, then fix yourself, and go back to your office.”
He walked across the room after after his little speech, just left her standing there. She spent a moment just looking at him. At his desk, back to her, he was getting something from a drawer. Maybe it was a gag, to shut her up after her ranting. Taking a steadying breath, then another, she tried to not let embarrassment back in. She stood where he had left her, uncertain of where things would go from here, but knowing that she was not going to walk away from something that she found, embarrassing outburst aside, extremely exciting.
“You know,” he said over his shoulder, “I’d have every right to punish you for your…snarky attitude. Not to mention poking me that way.” Turning back to her and crossing the room, he rubbed his hand under his tie, over his chest.
“That really hurt me, you know.”
She stared at her fingernails, bright candy pink, but not so long that they should have hurt him that much. His laugh caused her to look up at him. And frown as he smirked at her.
“As if.” For just a second he looked at her, and she was sure that she read something there, some happiness that she had stayed, hadn’t let her hang-up walk her capacious ass out the door. His voice was very soft, very gentle as he spoke again.
“I’m glad you stayed.”
He took his other hand from his side. What she saw in his hand belied the gentleness of his tone. Lifting the ruler, gesturing toward her, he smiled a smile that could only be termed ‘sadistic’. Her eyes widened when he issued his next command, the voice no longer soft and gentle, but firm.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Her eyes widened even further, as she paused. The look on his face, that “Dom look” was challenging her to be disobedient. Daring her had only ever made her made her reckless. She straightened her spine, stuck out her tongue, not a little impudently, waggled it at him.
“That little muscle almost landed you in a boatload of trouble.”
Surprisingly, he did not smack her with the ruler, but rather pulled a clothes pin from his pocket, quickly clipping it on the end of her waggling tongue-tip.
“OUTH!” she yelped. Man that fucking hurt! she thought. Tears rose as he struck the clothes pin with the ruler, a series of tap tap tapping that had her struggling to hold still, keep her place. One last hard thwack made the tears slip down her cheeks. He caught them on his fingers, rubbing them dry on the crotch of her panties.
“Mustn’t get tear-drops on your pretty blouse. I’m sure your cohorts would love to see that I made you cry, but you’re made of stronger stuff than they would ever imagine.”
Removing the clothespin, he smiled as he put it back in his pocket.
“I wonder if it would make you cry–or moan–if I stuck that on your clit?”
He patted his pocket where the small but effective torture device now rested. Not sure on whether he expected a response, she sucked her tongue back into her mouth and hid it behind her teeth. The tip throbbed, but set up a response in her pussy that was undeniable.
“On your knees. We haven’t much time left.”
Obedient now, her head in submissive mode, she moved to her knees.
“Open your mouth and stick out that sassy tongue of yours.”
He moved to straddle her, pulling his belt from his pants, tugging the trousers down.
“There best not be any cum stains on my new pants,” he said sternly, but his eyes were crinkling at the corners, a sign of amusement, she’d learned.
“Don’t worry Sir, I enjoy swallowing,” she purred. He didn’t respond to her other than a quiet humming sound. His cock was still turgid, despite the little episode of attitude adjustment. Oh, she was so going to enjoy this!
“Keep your mouth open, curl your tongue.”
Tongue-tip throbbing, thrusting between her open lips, she waited. Yet instead of the task she had been longing for, he instead slapped his cock onto her tongue. The slap was quite firm, squishing that tender bit of flesh and muscle against her teeth. Though it felt like her teeth would cut into the underside of her tongue, still, she didn’t move, only letting a small moan break free. Again the thick meat of him slapped on her outthrust tongue, again she breathed through the pain. He left his cock this time, left it resting there. The tip rested just inside her mouth, she could breath the sweaty, faint urine scent of man-shaft.
“Look at me. Don’t move.”
His hands grasped her hair as he slid his heavy rod deeper into her mouth. She prayed that she wouldn’t gag, but she did anyway. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her there. Tears formed in her eyes, her throat jack-hammered visciously as her stomach clenched.
She was right on the cusp of heaving, her throat tightening reflexively when he released her, sliding his hard cock to the edge of her lips. She had a moment to catch her breath, to swallow, before he grasped her hair and began to fuck her mouth in earnest. This wasn’t a blowjob, she realized, but a taking, a near-rape, however willingly offered, of her mouth. Relax, she ordered herself, breathing from her nose, fighting the urge to gag. Yet gag she did, and each time her throat clutched, he would moan.
“Suck,” he ordered, holding still, his hand grasping the base of his cock. She sucked. Seconds later, he groaned, and the salty-sweet taste of his come frosted her tongue.
His hand stroked her head.
“Good girl. Now, put yourself together, we have work to attend to.”
Put herself together, that was a good one, she thought, trying to switch gears as she tugged her skirt down, adjusted her blouse. She wiped a shaking hand over her cheeks, scrubbing away choke-tears. Still tasting him in her mouth, she rose and crossed the room to his desk. In true harmony, they worked.
The days rolled into a week. They spent that first weekend together, barely leaving his play room except to catch a few hours of sleep in his sumptuous bedroom. At work he was formal as always, reserving those personal moments for when they were alone in his office. The weeks rolled into months. They spent the summer traveling for work, fucking for pleasure. He took her to the sin rooms in Belgium, Germany, France, showed her how the Europeans played their dark and dirty games. His business often took him away, the days but especially the nights becoming dull and dreary without him. She taught him about Skype, and entertained him from afar with her dirty dancing, and her quick wit. The days flew by, summer rolling into spring, and spring into winter. Though it was chilly outside, inside her apartment it was warm and toasty. Fresh from the shower, dressed and ready to chat with her Man, she had been raring to go.
But tonight there would be no Skype. He was in Portland, and the city was socked in with a storm. It had delayed his flight, taken power from most of the city, including his ability to connect online.
“Fucking weather,” she mumbled, shuffling around her apartment. She’d come home from work and prepared to put on a show that would leave him weeping in frustration. Her new corset had arrived at last, red under black lace, fluttery lace edging doing nothing to hide the enormous swell of her tits and everything to enhance the paleness of her skin. The bottom stopped one scant inch above her pubic mound. When she reclined against the pillows he’d have a stupendous view of mountainous breasts and weeping pussy. All the toys she’d intended to tease them both with were arranged just so on the bed, carefully set within arms reach of where she’d planned to frame herself.
His text, received five minutes ago, had dashed her plans.
No planes leaving Portland tonight. HUGE storm. No elect or internet. No SKYPE tonight.
Too bad she hadn’t gotten that before she’d spent two hours preparing herself, shaving her hairy bits, full make up ~tasteful but definitely there~ and the donning of the corset. That had been a process. And while she wasn’t ginormously fat, lacing up that son of a bitch had been a lesson in patience.
“All dressed up and nowhere to go,” she muttered. In trying times like this, a girls only friend awaited her in the freezer. The thought of squeezing a pint of ice cream inside the corset that barely left her room to breathe was daunting. And yet…
Someone knocked on her door, giving her a few minutes reprieve.
Better get a robe. If Mr. Williams needs anything I could send him into cardiac arrest opening the door wearing this, she mused. Thinking of the frail and elderly man that lived down the hall from her, she hastily jerked her robe from the back of her bedroom door. She picked up the pace, rushing from her room down the hallway as the knocks became increasingly impatient.
“Coming, I’m coming,” she hollered, “geeze don’t knock down the frigging door,” she muttered to herself. She flung open the door.
“You just opened the door.”
“You never checked. I could have been anyone.‘
“uUHH…but…but…but…you’re not anyone, you’re YOU and you’re here and not in Portland and…” Shock had her stuttering, ignoring the safety lesson he seemed intent on delivering.
He pushed her inside, stepping into her space, shutting the door behind himself and locking it firmly.
“I could be the neighborhood rapist. Coming up here to get me some of that-”
He wrenched open her robe, to her shock.
“I would have found this, found these and how could any self respecting rapist resist a taste? A touch? A good hard feel?”
His hands slid over her, across her breasts, grasping, pinching, mauling her. His touch was fierce and rough and she was getting wetter by the second. And had yet to frame a coherent sentence.
“You’re repeating yourself,” he whispered, diving in and biting her neck. His hand slid up to her throat. “Where’s your bedroom, slut? Huh? Tell me…”
His fingers closed tighter. Her heart pounded with an odd mix of fear and lust.
“There…” she croaked, “behind me…first door…”
He pushed her there steadily, his hand tight on her throat, his eyes burning intensely into hers. They were halfway to the bed when he stopped, his attention upon the array of items she had left there. He spun her around roughly, drawing her back, his arm around her neck now.
“What it that?”
“That?” Her voice was all teasy innocence. Maybe she shouldn’t egg him on but dammit, this was scary-exciting. His other hand grabbed her hair, yanking her head further back, his eyes like lasers boring into her.
“You look like you were expecting company.”
“I was,” she whispered, “the neighborhood rapist…” her breathing became labored as his arm tightened. He really was choking her! She stole a snatch of breath. The fist in her hair pulled tighter, making her squeal in pain.
“You…you Sir. I was going to Skype with you…see? My laptop is on my dresser waiting…and then your text came and…”
He said nothing further for a long minute. And then he kissed her, turning her, his hands grasping her head, pulling her into the kiss. Feeling his lips moving, taking, sucking, moved her. His hands now tender, his mood shifting, her heart swelling.
“I missed you. I was going to go eat ice cream when I got your text.”
He murmured against her mouth. The back of the bed bumped her thighs and she realized she hadn’t known they were even moving again, lost in the amazing sensations his mouth was creating.
“Up,” he pushed her, until she was centered in the middle of the bed. His hands made quick work moving the toys. “Don’t move.” He returned moments later with his suitcase, and a long length of cording. Her eyes widened, her pussy lurched. The tying was a time of deep intimacy, of connection. He knotted her securely, wrists together, then tied to the center of her headboard.
“I thought you were going to spread me out,” she half-pouted.
“And lose access to your sumptuous ass? I think not. Speaking of, roll over, knees under your belly.”
She complied, though she grumbled that it wasn’t easy doing the flip and flop when your hands were tied like you were praying. The sharp whap of the crop on her bum made her jump, cutting off any further attempt at talking.
“Ah, good then.”
He hit her left buttock 6 times, then a seventh. She knew because she was counting in her head, just in case. And her ass burned. And her pussy burned. As if just thinking that last bit gave him an idea, the crop hit her solidly between her legs. If she’d jolted when he’d first hit her ass, the movement when he nailed her cunt rivaled pole jumping.
He laughed, then swatted the tender meat of her cunt again.
“No! Oh! OW…that fucking HURTS!”
“I know. You aren’t very quiet in telling me.”
“Hard to be quiet when someone is slapping your privates. If you untie my hands I can show you…on your dick.”
An extra hard swat was, apparently, his answer. She yelped again. Yet when his fingers explored the beaten cleft, she moaned.
“You’re fucking soaked. I need to do something about that.”
He hit her pussy again, then began alternating blows with the crop with cupping slaps of his hand. After every swat, his fingers would caress her slit, stroke across her clit until her grunts of pain became moans of need.
When the bed shifted, she knew he was up to something.
Right over her shoulder blades.
“OUI! YOU BASTAR……”
His cock slipped inside of her, fucking hard from the moment he slid inside her cleft, robbing her of speech, indeed of coherent thought. She came almost instantly, head thrown back, hands praying in their bonds. He fucked her slowly, then hard again, alternating pace and rhythm until she thought she’d go mad from the lust. His fingers circled her clit, while the crop beat a steady rhythm on her back. Her orgasm rocked her, destroyed her. The bedcover was soaked, her thighs dripping with juice. When he finally exploded inside her, they fell together into the deep, sated sleep of lovers.
Sometime before dawn she mumbled against his shoulder.
“I thought you were in Portland. You said your plane was delayed.”
“uh huh,” he replied, his hands tugging her hips closer to him. “I said no planes were leaving that night. But I was already here, sitting in your parking lot.”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
Her work bestie Marcy hovered at the corner of her desk, grasping the edge as if fighting back the urge to help Mae put mementos into the box on the chair.
“I know. But it’s okay. I’m happy. Really happy.”
“Are you sure he didn’t fire you? You’re not lying?”
Her response was a laugh, a sound that came from deep within, causing her impressive cleavage to jiggle under the low-cut top that she wore.
“Something funny happening out here?”
Mr. Chisolm stepped out from his office, as Marcy’s eyes grew huge. Shit, she thought, I hope he didn’t hear that. Yet his eyes, indeed his full attention, remained focused on Mae.
“Nope, just packing up the last of my things.”
“Are you sure about this?”
Chisolm and Marcy spoke simultaneously, then stared at one another in surprise. When Mae began laughing, they grinned, somewhat embarrassed to be echoing one another’s thoughts.
“May I?” she asked him.
“If you must.”
“I must.” She put a sexy infusion into the two words, slowly fanning him with her gaze.
“I like those words.” His voice dropped, his hand slipping down her back. Marcy stared openly as he patted Mae’s ass firmly.
“Marcy.” He turned to the stunned woman. He all but towered over the pair of women; two more polar opposites of the female species couldn’t be imagined. While Marcy was all hard angles and tight lines, Mae was soft and full curvaceousness.
She swallowed hard. He was so imposing, even when relaxed, yet Mae seemed totally composed, comfortable around him.
“Mae and I are…” he paused, looking at Mae.
“Fucking like bunnies?”
Mae said, her tone amused. Her head canted to one side, mischief dancing in her eyes, she was loving every second of this. And really….if Marcy’s eyes protruded any further from her head she’d be blind. She was cracking herself up, her response absolutely tickled her funny bone–and she could tell that he was nonplussed by her impromptu candor.
His tone was firm, his mouth set in a straight line. She poked him in the belly.
“Lighten up, boss,” she teased. She turned to Marci.
“We are, in case you really didn’t know, and now we’re shacking up together besides. How many women get to say they shagged their boss and are moving into his sin-nest with him? Hmmmm?”
His mouth opened and closed a few times. Despite running a successful business with some real assholes, no one threw him into speechlessness more often than this sassy-assed slut.
Marcy continued to hold the edge of the desk as if it were the only safe thing in the room. At long last she blinked, shook her head.
“Yup,” said Mae, at the same time he said “apparently,” which sent both Mae and Marcy into giggles.
“When you two are done…” he said with studied calmness.
Mae waved a hand at him, her cheeks pinked from laughter.
“Your face…ohgawd…” and she dissolved again.
“Really.” He replied, his tone cool. But the corners of his eyes and lips crinkled, and she knew he was more than a little amused.
“Do come see me when you’re,” he paused, lifting one brow haughtily, “slightly less…hysterical. We have a few more things to sort out. Congratulations on your promotion, Marcy. I’ll look forward to working with you. Eventually.”
The two women began to laugh even harder, as he turned and escaped back into his office.
“You were a very naughty girl today.”
“I know. It’s hard to resist tweaking you, you know. Always so upright and proper.”
“I see to recall you enjoying my ‘upright’ status a bit ago.”
She purred, snuggling in closer to him. Her bottom was hot and heavy from earlier, when he’d tied her arms to the bedpost and used all manner of things to ‘whoop her ass for her sass’. The sheet under her butt was damp from the orgasms he had wrung from her before he’d finally exploded himself. Ensconced not only in his arms, his bed, his home, but now a part of his life? Things didn’t have a happier ending then that. His leg nudged hers apart, his finger finding her slick and wet. Then again….she mused, moaning as that questing digit slid inside, perhaps they did.