Daddy's

by Helen Goodman

  With her doing most of the work and his contribution limited to the occasional slow-arching thrust into her, his hands find other occupation. The neck of her tank top is low but he lowers it further to free her braless breasts. They're small, just enough to conform to the cup of his palm as he fondles them, but he can't remember having felt something so soft and supple in his entire life. When he tilts forward to touch her erect brown nipple with his tongue, she moans and loses her rhythm for a moment. Having found her weakness he seals his lips over the entire thing and sucks, tongue running lightly around its rim to elicit more of those moans.

  She seems blissfully unaware of the surrounding park, but Paul surfaces momentarily to assess their situation, peering first across the pond and then up the nearby path. It's there that he sees something to give him pause, a couple his own age on a leisurely stroll in their direction.

  With a grunt, he utters an urgent, "Come, come," into her ear and strains into her motions, thrusting more heavily. He spots the woman of the couple look their direction and experiences a sudden surge of both fear and arousal at the increased attention.

  In a spark of inspiration, he runs a hand up to her breast again and takes her nipple between forefinger and thumb, giving it a hearty squeeze as he bucks up into her. "They're watching us now," he whispers right next to her ear, lips brushing against the lobe. "Just now realizing that we're fucking. The woman looks startled, horrified, she's leaning in to say something to her husband. They stopped, they're just staring. Staring at you and that glorious ass of yours." The hand that's bracing on her hip reaches down to yank her skirt up, exposing her skin to the breeze and shocked gazes alike.

  He sees out of the corner of his eye that her eyes are closed and she's biting the corner of her mouth in an attempt to keep herself quiet. Even then, she can't help the little groans that escape her as she reacts to his sharper thrusts, as she quickens the sway of her own hips. She cries out shortly as she climaxes, then catches herself and reins herself back to heavy, punctuated gasps, her fingers snatching harshly and clutching at his shirt.

  Coming back down, she shoves herself on him in a sinfully sloppy kiss, the touch of her tongue combining with her forceful grinding to make him to come as well. He's lost for a moment, head dropped forward onto her shoulder. He could stay there forever.

  With a nudge from her he straightens up and regains his senses, turning to meet her eye. "They still there?" she asks quietly, her voice higher-pitched than he would have imagined.

  After a quick look, he confirms with a nod. "The guy's on his phone now."

  "Better be quick then," she says, already pulling off of him, finding her own feet again and straightening her skirt as she walks.

  Hurriedly, he tucks himself back in, condom and all, and zips up, standing to follow her. She's already around the back of the bench before he catches up to her and snags her wrist. Already cursing himself for being too much of a sap, he utters a hushed but heartfelt, "Thank you," and flattens her against him one last time. He has to reach down farther now, to kiss her square on the lips and to cop a final feel of her bare ass.

  She kisses him back, pressing her tits against him while she does, but when they separate she laughs - probably at him - and hustles off, beating a path through the wall of trees and out to whatever's on the other side.

  Paul himself leaves the scene of the crime as it is, abandoning newspaper and condom wrapper for the couple on the hill and the police to sort out. Off he walks, hands in his pockets, lips puckering into a whistle as he strides as quickly but nonchalantly as he can around the bend of the pond and out of the park.

  The End.

  The Cost of Success

  I am a successful businesswoman. Or at least I was, until he came along. I have always prided myself on my intellect, my attention to detail, and my ability to multi-task. I manage a fairly large landscape company, staffed almost entirely by men, and am generally regarded as being tough as nails. At home, it is much the same, as my husband is content to leave household management to me. My children are not quite as easy to intimidate, but nonetheless, I am always in control. Or used to be...

  He applied for a job one scorching hot day in July. I was short-staffed, and behind schedule on an installation project, so was probably less selective than I ordinarily would have been. Even so, right away, I knew he was going to be trouble. He sat without asking, appeared totally relaxed, and held my eyes with an intensity that made me feel like I was the one being appraised. His references were impeccable, though, and he certainly gave the appearance of knowing his way around a shovel. He was tall, very tan, and the tight T-shirt and jeans did nothing to disguise his muscular physique. I allowed myself a quick mental debate, weighing my need for labor against my initial reaction to the man. I had an excellent track record at snap character judgments, and serious warning bells were going off here, but I persuaded myself that my personal feelings had nothing to do with his ability to landscape. I told him that he was hired, and shook his hand. Had I not already been a little anxious, the electricity that flowed between our fingers would have done it. The deadline was rapidly approaching, though, so I took him outside and introduced him to the foreman.

  Over the next few weeks, I began to think that my fears had been groundless, as Jake rapidly proved himself invaluable. My foreman raved about him, and he did seem to fit in effortlessly. Landscapers are a strange bunch, and on more than one occasion, I had been forced to let people go, simply because the majority of the men refused to work with them. Jake had no such issues, and seemed to be well liked. I was quite busy with new projects, but made it to the job site at least three or four times a week to check on progress. When I did, I always felt his gaze on me, but dismissed it as normal male posturing. Even though I was the boss, I was not immune to the occasional admiring glances at my body, but knew better than to take it personally. His stare, however, was different, and always made me feel as though he could see beneath my clothing. The work was getting done, though, so I chalked it up to an overactive imagination, and went about my business.

  The last week in August, the project was finally finished, the client was happy, and the check was in the bank. I had worked everyone to exhaustion, so invited them all for a round of beers at the local pub. Ordinarily, I didn't socialize with the men, but that night I felt like I could make an exception. We went right after work, so we were all in sweaty jeans and T-shirts, but the atmosphere was quite festive. I had a couple of beers on an empty stomach, which went to my head quickly. I was just thinking about leaving when I felt a prickling at the back of my neck, and turned around to meet Jake's insolent leer. Suddenly, I was aware of the super-charged air conditioning in the bar, and the fact that my nipples were hardening. I made my excuses, and beat a hasty retreat to my office, which was within walking distance of the pub.

  I had work to do, I always did, but tonight my office was more of an escape, and a place to think. I paced back and forth, wondering what I should do about Jake. Could I really fire such a good worker, just because he made me uncomfortable? And if I was honest with myself, "uncomfortable" really wasn't the right word. He made me feel naked, vulnerable, and completely out of control. None of which were appropriate feelings for an employee to create in an employer. The knock on my door cut through my inner turmoil, and somehow, I knew it was him. I opened the door cautiously, ready to explain that I was busy, but he pushed his way in easily, ignoring my feeble protests. Taking a handful of my hair, he tilted my head back, and his mouth was on mine in a way I hadn't been kissed in a long time. His rough calloused hand found my breasts, and then he released my hair, and grabbing the neck of my T-shirt, ripped it in two as if it were a sheet of paper.

  I work out five days a week, and am no stranger to a shovel myself, but my struggles were as nothing to this man. I would have screamed, but at this hour, no one would hear, and he knew it as well as I did. He ripped off my bra as easily as he had my shirt, and bent his head to suck and bite my nipple
s, holding my wrists effortlessly with one hand. Now clad only in jeans, I began to plead with him, realizing that I was powerless to stop him. His only response was to spin me around, and bend me over my desk, tying my wrists tightly behind my back with the remnants of my shirt. He reached underneath me, unbuckled my belt, and pulled it out of the belt loops with one fluid motion. Then he unzipped my jeans, and yanked them down to my knees. I heard the snick of a knife being opened, and my panties were cut off of me, as well. I heard my belt buckle jingle a split second before the doubled-up belt hit my bare bottom. I screamed, as much out of fear as from the pain, and tried to stand, but he pinned me easily to my desk with one hand, as the other swung the belt again and again.

  "Beg me" were the first words he'd spoken since he forced his way into my office. His hands in my hair pulled my face off the desk, and the words were whispered in my ear. Telling him to fuck himself was probably not the smartest response, and he renewed his attack with the belt. Tears of rage and futility ran down my face, but worse, the juices began to flow between my legs as well. As if he could read my mind, he lay down the belt, and slid his fingers knowingly between my legs. "I know what you want, but you've kept me waiting all this time, so now you'll have to beg me for it."

  He continued spanking me, but now he used his hand, and after every third or fourth resounding slap, he would stroke my pussy, and chuckle about how wet I was. I wanted so badly to hurt him, or at least make him stop, but that was just my ego. My body betrayed me, and my back began to arch into the blows, and my thighs opened. Finally, the word he'd been waiting for escaped my mouth of its own volition. "Please..."

  "Please what, Melissa? You'll have to do better than that." The next slap was harder than ever and on that tender spot where cheek meets thigh.

  "Please...stop..."

  "I don't think that's what you really want, now is it?" His voice was triumphant, because he knew the answer.

  "No..." I whispered, and received another hard slap, in the exact same place.

  "You will address me as 'Sir' from now on!"

  "No Sir. Don't stop!" There. I had crossed the line, just that easily. And from that step, it was much easier to say "Fuck me, please? Sir?" And with those two short sentences, I was his, and he knew it. He left me tied and bent over the desk, and fucked me long, slow, and hard. With one hand in my hair, he pulled my head back so that he could lean over and bite my ear lobe. The other hand alternated between twisting my nipple viciously, and slapping my already sore bottom. I have never been multi-orgasmic, but I came again and again before he finally let out a low groan and collapsed on top of me.

  The rest, as they say, is history. He demanded, and received, a promotion and a raise. He now reports directly to me, and during our private meetings, I am required to kneel and service him at a moment's notice. He still bends me over the desk quite frequently, but now, I have to beg for it first. I would love to be able to say that he video-taped the whole episode, and used it to blackmail me, but I can't. His edge was that he understood me better than anyone ever had, and gave me what I needed desperately. I am in constant fear of being found out, but just like any other addict, will risk anything for my favorite drug -- total submission.

  The End.

  Keeping My Job

  A short while ago my company, a regular small run of the mill recruitment company, ran into some financial difficulties and for a while it looked to all at the firm like we were going to be just another company to go bust in the recession. Then out of the blue we were all called into a meeting by the boss to say that we were going to be merging with a much larger company who wanted to open small specialist branches for placement of varied professions.

  We had all been thrown a lifeline but we would not be safe until we had gone through an internal interview and testing process by the new boss. The merger would be happening in two weeks and between now and then our outputs would be highly scrutinised by the new boss who we would not get to meet till our interview.

  Over the next couple of weeks everyone tried their best to be as good at their jobs as possible which concerned me a little about how the company ended up having to be taken over. If everyone had worked this hard in the first place maybe we wouldn't be in the mess we were in! Still, not my place to motivate the other employees, so I did the same as I always do and just cracked on.

  After two weeks the new boss arrived and began working her way through the interviews at the pace of three a day. I was to be last on the third day which also happened to be a Friday. "Just my luck," I thought to myself "She will be ready for home and bored of doing all these and will probably give me no time at all to sell myself. Or even worse she'll pissed off that she hasn't gone home yet."

  Everyone had been forced to sign contracts, legally binding, that forbid them to talk about their interviews so I had no idea what to expect, I hadn't even seen the new boss. It was getting past 4pm and most of the other people were leaving when eventually my time came and I received a phone call at my desk to say she was ready for me. Her voice was firm but friendly I put her in her late thirties maybe early forties. I made my way to her office and knocked lightly on the door. "Come in!" I heard so I entered.

  The room was well lit with big windows all the way around the room with open floor length blinds. A large oak desk dominated the room, rich mahogany and clearly worth a few quid. An oddly purple coloured sofa one of these designer jobs with only one end having an arm on it and no cushions was along the adjoining wall. A few pictures on the walls and a plant in the corner, standard if yet personalised I would describe the office.

  The new boss stood up from her chair behind her desk and walked around to greet me offering her hand and saying, "Hello, nice to meet you sorry to have kept you so late I had a few issues with the last one. Karen I think her name was, not to worry she won't be here on Monday so we won't be having any issues again! Brad isn't it?"

  I shook her hand a little taken aback thinking that's an intimidating way to start an interview, "Yes" I affirmed my name and she replied telling me hers was Desirae. I would say she was about 40, 5 foot 7 or 8, long dark hair about 6 inches past her shoulders and expensively styled with a full fringe and straightened. She had the look of a woman who had been well pampered so had good skin for her age. She didn't look like a regular gym user but wasn't in bad shape she just didn't appear to be overly toned.

  She was dressed in a knee length black satin pencil skirt, black pantyhose and 2" black patent stiletto heels. She had a navy blue blouse that was also satin and looked very expensive with matching coloured buttons and a frill that was about two inches either side of the join that ran the full length. It was ruffled at the sleeve with an open collar that exposed a very expensive looking diamond necklace. The last button was undone and you could see just a hint of cleavage that appeared very well rounded and full whilst beginning to freckle, perhaps from all the topless sunbathing she had done when she was younger. Her outfit was completed with gold hoop earrings and black full rimmed stylish glasses. All in all Desirae looked very professional yet still maintained an air of sexuality to her.

  She offered me a seat which I gladly took as she returned to her desk. Being an interview I tried to restrain myself from checking out her ass but me being me I failed and had a good ogle of a large posterior that in my opinion was clearly itching to get out of her skirt. As a lover of real asses seeing it encased in the satin tight skirt really did make my day. Before getting back to her desk she rather barked out at me. "Now, you are our best worker so there is no worries that you will be an asset to the company who will be retaining you, but I am not one to beat around the bush and basically I need to make sure you are loyal to me not just the company. So given the fact you had a good long look at my arse whilst I was walking back to the desk I would say you are like most men enslaved to your sexual desires am I right?"

  I was a little shocked and unsure of what to say next as I was conscious this was still an interview despite the assurance
of my works competency. I took a breath in and before I could speak she said, "Don't try and deny it these windows are reflective," pointing over her shoulder at the glass as she sat down "I watched you watching my ass in the reflection, you really should be more careful!"

  I tried my hardest to say something and all I could come up with in a short and embarrassed tone was, "Yeah sorry about that."

  "No! I won't hear sorry when you aren't sorry, you enjoyed it didn't you?" Desirae exclaimed in a authoritarian tone.

  I took a second before answering and thought it didn't appear that she is overly angry about me checking her out so I might as well play along with whatever was happening, she's already said my job was safe. "I did enjoy it you have an amazing ass Desirae if I may be so bold as to say?"

  Desiare seemed to smile without turning her lips up at my comment and replied in a more calmer tone that, "You may be so bold but just remember I am the boss around here and if you try doing anything like that when I walk past in the office you will be reprimanded for sexual harassment do you understand?" I did understand and told her so almost apologising again.

  "So I need you beholden to me so go and lock the door then sit on the couch." She said it in a tone that suggested not doing what she wanted was not an option.

  "Random?" I thought to myself, "Why am I locking the door?" As I was walking things got a little darker as Desirae closed the blinds. I turned around and she beckoned me to throw her the keys which she then proceeded to put in one of the draws of her large desk. I sat as instructed on the couch.