The Boss

by Various

  I parted my lips, let him smear his skin along my pink painted mouth. When he made that sound in the back of his throat that always made me tremble, I moved my head forwards to suck him.

  ‘This is how you accept a gift, Winona.’ His voice was soft as he pushed deeper into my throat. I swayed along with the lulling sound of his words. He took my head in his hands, cupping me so that the world was muffled and I felt like I could hear the ocean if I tried.

  When he touched the back of my throat with his cock, driving deep, I gagged a little. My eyes watered. I sucked in a desperate elated breath through my nose.

  He growled, a sound I cherished. ‘Hike up that skirt, Winona. And there’d better be no panties under there.’

  My fingers clutched my snug skirt and lifted. Beneath it I wore only thigh-high stockings and a small, well-groomed patch of pubic hair.

  He nodded, forcing his cock deeper into my throat. ‘Good’ was all he said. And then, ‘You may touch yourself.’

  I was slick and slippery. Warm and eager. My fingers slid along my nether lips, parting, stroking, plucking, pinching. I eased fingers into my cunt as I sucked him a little faster. A little deeper. A little better.

  His fingers dug into my loose chignon, pulling just enough to give me that welcome element of pain. All the while the necklace that he gave me kept its greedy metal fingers on my pulse, the swell of my throat, the charm banging the hollow at my clavicle. Mocking me.

  He yanked my hair hard when he came and that bright burst of pain pushed me over the edge. I climaxed a second later, shivering fingers buried in my soaking wet pussy, my clit throbbing in time with my heart.

  He took my hand and helped me stand after tucking himself back in. Always he treated me as if I were royalty. Some great beauty, some wonderful lady, to be admired and cherished. Until she was used and abused. Spanked and bound and whipped and fucked. Although I knew that was only him cherishing me all the more.

  I wiped my lips with a tissue he handed over and then he kissed me. Almost a perfunctory kiss, but not quite. His tongue snaked out at the very last second, sneakily taking a taste of his semen on my lips. It always turned me on when he allowed himself to go there. He’d once whispered, ‘One of these days, I’m going to clean up after myself when I come. And then I’ll fuck you again. What do you think?’

  I think I’m still waiting for that day because I might actually die of arousal.

  ‘I think tonight will be interesting. Fun. Wear that red wrap dress with the black print, if you will.’ Trevor smoothed his trouser leg, leaned against his big desk.

  I nodded.

  ‘And don’t you dare take that off.’ He pointed to the necklace that now seemed to be repressing every surge of blood in my throat. I felt light-headed and woozy. It was fear. Nothing more than a surging rush of anxiety at having something pressed to my flesh. Irrational and stupid, but very real to me all the same.

  ‘I won’t, Sir.’

  He frowned at me.

  ‘Trevor,’ I corrected.

  ‘If you are very good, I’ll give you a reward tonight. And you’re almost always very good, Winona. So I’m not worried in the least.’

  I walked out of his office on wonky legs. I felt like I was going to fall, but knew I wouldn’t. I took a few deep breaths, making sure to hold them for a count of four in the middle as I’d been taught. It always made me feel better, kept the anxiety at bay some.

  Maybe your reward if you behave is he’ll add a link to this thing so you can wear it with pleasure …

  I laughed at myself.

  ***

  I barely made it to the phone. I was running late and panicking. Trevor would be here in thirty minutes to get me and I was in nothing but black stockings with a garter belt and a black bra. Which I wasn’t sure he wanted me to wear.

  ‘Yes, hello, Winona,’ I stammered. I forgot if I was in business mode or not. But since I was in my own home, I guessed it didn’t matter very much.

  ‘Are you wearing your present?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Are you wearing clothes?’

  ‘Technically some,’ I said. ‘I’m just in here getting dressed.’

  ‘Sit down on the bed.’

  I sat.

  He wasn’t here. He couldn’t see me. But I listened and obeyed him as if he were. More for me than for him, I’d realised at some point once upon a time ago.

  ‘Spread your legs,’ Trevor said. Then, ‘I am assuming you are bare.’

  ‘Yes,’ I breathed.

  ‘Open the middle drawer of your nightstand. I want the big black one. The one that’s so thick it’s hard to get in. I want it set on high. I want it in you before I count to ten.’

  There was no room for argument in his orders, but I shifted. ‘We’ll be late,’ I whispered.

  ‘That’s one,’ he said and my cheeks flushed.

  ‘I’ll smell like pussy,’ I said, pushing it.

  ‘That’s two.’ His voice was stony. ‘Now then, Winona, you best get moving or I’ll have them shorten that necklace you’re wearing.’

  He didn’t have to say it twice. I switched on the fat black vibe and it buzzed to life. I turned it to high and heard him chuckle.

  ‘Three,’ he said.

  I was really wet from the order alone. There was no faking it – Trevor knew me. Just like he knew I longed to call him ‘Sir’, so he barely ever let me.

  The vibrator – smooth, cool black plastic – kissed my clit and I jumped a bit.

  ‘… four …’

  I played it over that thrumming knot of flesh long enough to make me just a touch wetter. Just a touch softer. I panicked a little when he said, ‘… seven …’ But then I pushed the bent end – angled to stimulate my G-spot – into my slick cunt and sighed.

  ‘Is it in?’ His voice was guttural. I could hear the whisper-slide of his hand on his cock as he stroked himself. Or maybe I was imagining it. I liked to think I wasn’t.

  ‘It’s in,’ I gasped.

  ‘Get yourself off twice,’ he said. ‘And then no panties. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m leaving now.’

  And then he hung up. Fear wormed into my gut and amplified my arousal. I came with a loud cry and realised I had fifteen minutes to do it again and then get ready on top of it. So I pushed a finger into my ass, nudging that smooth hot tissue, giving myself just enough pain to get off again – fast and brutal. My preferred method.

  I set about wiping myself off with a wet towel to freshen up. He’d said no panties, not no manners.

  I put my hair up, minimal makeup, small pearl drop earrings that were set in silver and accented the Claddagh necklace. When the doorbell rang, my stomach trembled and my knees shook a bit. I pulled on my heels, made sure my dress was cinched tight to my waist the way I liked.

  At the door Trevor was tall, dark and handsome. Dressed for the party in a smart suit but with a bright-red tie for colour.

  ‘There she is. Did you do as I asked?’

  Asked? We both knew that was wrong. Told was more like it.

  ‘Yes.’ My voice tried to betray my nerves so I cleared my throat.

  ‘Let’s see.’ He took three big steps towards me and to keep time with him, I took three big steps back. My ass hit the wall, then my shoulder blades.

  Trevor smiled at me. His hand snaked beneath my dress, slid up my leg, slithered over my mound. His fingers pressed to my humid wetness and I felt my eyelids drift shut. ‘You’re wet.’

  I could only nod.

  ‘How many times did you come?’ he asked, mouth pressed tight to the curve of my ear.

  Nipples painfully hard, voice woefully weak, I said, ‘Twice. Once after you hung up and then a few moments later a second time, Sir.’

  I bit my lip. I’d done it again. ‘Who?’ His voice was a sing-song.

  ‘Trevor.’

  ‘I believe you.’ His free hand found my throat and pressed the necklace’s cool metal to my pulse. I felt the bind of jewellery and fle
sh and fought to grab a gulp of air.

  His hand cupped my mound, palm pressed to my clit, fingers maddeningly close to my slick cunt. I saw sparkles of light in my vision and realised I’d been holding my breath. I inhaled deeply when he plunged his fingers into me, found my G-spot, stroked it masterfully so that my knees went soft and I sagged a little.

  ‘You were a good girl.’

  Lips on my temple, lips on my own, lips on the curve of my neck.I surrendered to his soft words and strong hands and came within seconds. Offering him the wet evidence of my pleasure with a soft cry.

  ‘Thank you, Trevor,’ I managed, though his hand still caged my throat.

  ‘You’re welcome. Let’s go.’

  When I reached for a tissue to wipe my pussy dry he gave a dismissive grunt. ‘Leave it,’ he said.

  I left it.

  It was impossible not to feel the necklace. My fingers plucked and played with it the entire time we were at the party. Trevor’s eyes would find me as he schmoozed some man who had millions, maybe billions, of dollars to play with. He’d cock an eyebrow and give me a half-smile as one of his associates would bring me a drink or flirt. Every advance made the necklace feel heavier, as if made of lead instead of a more beautiful and lighter metal.

  But, oddly, I also felt safe … wanted. Possessed. And it inspired a heavy needy heat between my legs. All kinds of bizarre images flashed through my mind. Trevor taking me right there, in the crowded room, for all to see. Simply coming up behind me to flip my skirt up and mount me like some big lion in a grass field. With as much pomp and circumstance as animals mating. Which meant none. A hard, rough, perfunctory fuck in the middle of the teeming, scheming mass of bankers.

  My face was hot with the fantasy. My pussy was the same. A small slide of fluid escaped me and my eyes sought him out. He stared me down from about thirtypaces away as if he knew what had just happened. My fingers found the necklace again, sliding beneath it, worrying it. I wasn’t sure if I was fussing with it because I wanted it gone, or touching it to make sure it was still there.

  He winked at me and, deep inside of me, desperate nerves fluttered, moist internal muscles flexed. God, how I wanted him.

  When his one co-worker Max said, ‘So how long have you and Trevor been … a couple?’ I blushed hotly, gripped the necklace tight.

  When I opened my mouth to speak, Trevor’s warm voice boomed. ‘Long enough.’He touched the necklace from the back, pushing it down enough for it to tighten a hair. For me to feel the constriction. He leaned in close as they laughed, and whispered, ‘Property of me,’ and kissed my cheek.

  The party was winding down and I turned to meet his gaze. ‘Please’ was all I said.

  And then it was a flurry of goodbyes and him hustling me out of there, holding my elbow chivalrously. His big body pressed to mine, me leaching the warmth off him when the winter wind blew up my skirt and made me shiver.

  In the car, he cranked the heater. Angled all the vents my way. ‘You did very well. Did you have fun?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I admitted.

  ‘Nervous?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, no one would have known it to look at you.’ His palm pressed down on my thigh and then slowly moved up. My dress ruched up with the movement like a pleated curtain. Cool winter air mixed with blasting car heat wafted over my thigh, insinuated itself under the fabric of my dress and licked at my wet nether lips. I sighed.

  ‘Good.’ Admitting my fear was OK with him. Everything was OK with him.

  ‘I think you deserve a reward, good girl.’

  Pleasure flooded me from head to toe, heating the crown of my head, sliding along my skin and bones to puddle in my feet.

  He took a left where he should have taken a right to take us to either his house or mine. We ended up at the local park as snowflakes started to sift down from a gunmetal sky shot with navy blue.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘For a walk.’

  It was a stumble and a shuffle in nice heels down a dirt trail. I twisted my ankle a little once and wondered why, in his nice suit and my nice dress, we were in the woods. But I followed.

  At the bottom of the slope he turned, pushed me against a towering tree with rough bark that ripped at my dress and my light wool coat. Tore at my hair with cracked rough fingers.

  ‘Hike up that skirt,’ he said.

  I did it. I hiked up the skirt of my dress with trembling fingers, shaking from nerves and from cold. His fingers were frozen cylinders when they slid into me, swiftly warming to stimulate me to near orgasm.

  With a jerk and a sigh, Trevor undid his zipper and lifted my leg to his waist. I was so wet – so utterly wet – that he drove into me easily the next moment. His cock was perfectly warm and perfectly hard. I was full and a small cry burst out of me as he started to move.

  ‘Do you like being my property, Winona?’

  ‘I-I do …’ I stammered here, so close to coming I almost forgot myself ‘… Trevor.’

  His hand covered my necklace, driving the metal a little more roughly against the vulnerable spots on my neck. My head went light and fuzzy – with panic more than anything. I was getting enough air; it was the idea of it all that was scaring me.

  His hips moved faster and I felt myself clamping down on him, those internal muscles bunching and gripping – needy wet bits of me, ready to give me an orgasm. Trevor slammed into me so the bark bit my skin, scraped it raw, stung. But I didn’t care. The pain added to the pleasure and I cried out, starting to come.

  His fingers tightened round my neck, pressing, pressing, pressing the beloved and dreaded necklace to my throat. He growled, ‘You can call me Sir. Just for now.’

  His hips swung back and forth, back and forth, a flesh-and-blood pendulum delivering stimulation to my nerve endings, and I was coming again, the peak fast and hard and so vicious it rendered me mute.

  But finally I managed. ‘Sir,’ I gasped.

  He squeezed my neck a little harder and grunted once, deeply, like an animal, when he spilled into me. We stayed there, frozen under a speckled sky, until I started to shake. It was when he was helping me up the path, holding my hand like a gentleman as his seed slipped out of me with every step, that he said, ‘We’ll put the necklace away for now. But you can wear it for special occasions.’

  Special occasions. Like being shown off. Like being taken in the woods. Like getting to call him Sir. All the things that made my head swim with adrenalin.

  ‘I look forward to it,’ I said and followed him out of the woods.

  Sole Survivor

  Heather Towne

  ‘Did you hear the news?’ Angela Martens whispered.

  Her colleagues in the payroll department swivelled around in their chairs to look at the excited gossip.

  ‘What news?’ Betty Foster, head of the department, asked, a furrow creasing her brow.

  Angela pedalled her chair closer to the centre of the group. ‘I heard they’re going to downsize our department – outsource payroll to an outside company. They’re planning to layoff everybody but one employee.’

  Phil Keegstra groaned. ‘Great. And I just bought a townhouse.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Betty asked sharply.

  Angela glanced around, then bent her red head lower, closer. ‘Mr Hirsch’s secretary, Margie. She heard Mr Hirsch talking about it to the VP of Finance.’

  ‘Are you sure you got it straight?’ Felicity Owen queried nervously. She’d just recently got married.

  Angela grinned. ‘Straight from the horse’s mouth – uh, once removed, that is.’

  ‘Who’s the one to stay?’

  That question came from Lisette Langdon, the newest member of the department. The tall, slender, brown-eyed chestnut brunette had been hired only six months earlier, straight out of high school. She had the least amount of seniority, experience and training, and she knew it. She also knew that wasn’t going to stop her from getting where she wanted to go–right to
the top. She just hadn’t figured out how yet.

  Angela glanced at the young woman. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve decided yet.’

  Betty sniffed and fluffed her dyed-blonde hair. ‘Well, as department head, the person who’s been here the longest, if anyone is spared, it’s sure to be me.’

  Nobody made any reply to that comment, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Until Lisette looked up from her long, glossy, red nails and commented, ‘What will they need a department head for, if there isn’t going to be any department left?’

  Betty glared at the woman. The others shifted warily in their chairs, knowing how right Lisette was. Any one of them could stay, or go. They all believed Mr Hirsch, as COO, would be making the fateful decision, but they weren’t the least bit sure as to how he’d be making it.

  ***

  Lisette waited until Mr Hirsch’s secretary finally went out for lunch. Then she adjusted her top – by popping three more buttons open on the red satin garment. She was wearing the shiny blouse and a pair of black slacks, her brown hair done up, ringlets dangling, face painted with just enough makeup to fully accentuate her high cheekbones and long eyelashes, the sultry depths of her eyes. Her breasts were pushed out and up by a red demi-bra one size too small and, with the blouse buttons undone, were on prominent, plumped porcelain display. She took a deep breath, gripped the 9x12 envelope she’d filched from the mailroom and strolled into Mr Hirsch’s office.

  The man was bent over some papers on his large mahogany desk. His bald head gleamed under the lights, thick red lips moving along with his pale right hand as he wrote. Lisette glanced at the oil painting of the man’s wife and six children up on the wall behind his desk, before fully focusing her attention on Hamish Hirsch, Chief Operating Officer of Consolidated Enterprises, decider of payroll department fates.

  Walking up to his desk, she stated huskily, ‘Package for you, Mr Hirsch.’

  The middle-aged man’s lips and pen didn’t stop. Despite being the son-in-law of the company’s founder and owner, he was a busy man.