The Boss

by Various

  Lisette inhaled, pushing her chestwares out even further, and leaned over Mr Hirsch’s desk. Her breasts almost spilled out onto his papers. ‘Package, Mr Hirsch,’ she breathed.

  Hamish glanced up into Lisette’s blindingly white cleavage. His clear blue eyes registered nothing but annoyance at the interruption. The pair swept up from her pair, onto her pretty face and pursed, puckered lips. ‘Stick it in my inbox, please.’ He bent his head back down to his work.

  Lisette sighed, straightened up and slotted the envelope. She turned to leave.

  ‘Young lady.’

  She pirouetted. ‘Yes, Mr Hirsch?’

  ‘You should do up your top. You’ll catch cold like that.’

  ***

  The next business day, Lisette was wearing a different top–a conservative blue cotton blouse fastened all the way up to the top – and a different pair of slacks: a tight, stretchy white pair that moulded to her taut bottom like they were spray-painted on. The pants split her bum cheeks right down the middle, plunging deep, separating high and wide and out. Her buttocks visibly shifted and shuddered when she walked on her three-inch heels, bum cleavage clefted like there were no pants there at all.

  This time, when she brought another envelope in at noontime for the hard-working Mr Hirsch, she fumbled and dropped it on the floor of his office as she attempted to insert it into his inbox. ‘Oh, sorry, Mr Hirsch!’ she husked, getting his irritated attention.

  Then she turned, bent over, almost bursting her young, ripe buttocks right out of the thin seat of her pants. The stretchy material strained to contain the cheeky pair, gone almost sheer with the deep, butt-thrusting bend Lisette was erotically executing right in front of the staring Mr Hirsch.

  ‘Young lady,’ Hamish said.

  ‘Yes, Mr Hirsch?’ Still bent outrageously over, Lisette craned her neck around to look at the man.

  ‘It’s a wonder you don’t cut off the circulation to your legs, those pants are so tight.’ He bent his head back down to his work.

  Lisette sighed and stood up. She slotted the envelope and stalked out of the office.

  ***

  ‘I know what you’re trying to do, honey.’ Betty Foster confronted Lisette later that afternoon, as the women sat at their desks. ‘We all do.’

  ‘Do what?’ Lisette said, not bothering to turn away from her computer screen. If they were all going to be laid off tomorrow except for one, anyway, Betty’s authority was moot.

  ‘Shaking your sweet little tits and ass in front of Mr Hirsch,’ Betty stated frankly. ‘Angela saw you leaving his office at lunchtime the past two days.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes, she did. And she saw you drawing a big fat zero for all your slutty efforts, too. You should’ve done your research, sweetheart – Mr Hirsch is happily married, joyously prolific, religiously devout as Joseph Smith. You could parade around stark-naked on top of his desk, put on a show, and he’s just going to tell you to take up square-dancing.’

  The others giggled, including Phil.

  Lisette punched the keys of her computer with her blood-red fingernails, her butt now almost numb in the super-tight pants. Her belated Internet surfing had confirmed what Betty had just said about the staid Mr Hirsch. ‘We’ll see,’ she replied. ‘All men have their weaknesses. You don’t get that many children without liking some part of the female anatomy.’

  Betty snorted. ‘Better try crotchless panties, then, sweetheart, with scripture written on the sides and a cross through your clit. That might get his attention.’

  Lisette ignored the laughter. She’d actually thought about that, but figured that was too much sacrifice for just one lousy accounting position.

  ***

  The next day, payroll doomsday, Lisette Langdon strolled right past Mr Hirsch’s secretary and into his office.

  ‘Hey, you can’t go in there!’ Margie hissed, leaping up from her desk.

  Lisette ignored the woman. She didn’t even have a package for Hamish this time, just a packaged pair – of legs and feet.

  Her red top was done up and her black skirt was short but loose. But her long, lithe, ivory-coloured legs cascaded out from the ruffled hem of the skirt, sheathed in sheer black nylon stockings, pouring down and down in sculpted elegance and eroticism into a pair of red leather, spike-heeled, open-toed shoes strapped to her slim, shapely, platformed feet. Crimson leather tendrils wrapped around her delicate, well-turned ankles, holding the towering shoes in place, highlighting her feet and dizzyingly long legs. Her luxuriant lower limbs whispered seductively together, thighs caressing, four-inch leather heels creaking slightly, as she strolled, hips rolling, legs crossing, tottering just a bit, up to Mr Hirsch’s desk.

  ‘I’d like to discuss the layoffs in payroll with you, Hamish,’ she said, stopping two yards in front of the man, so he could see all of her sensually clothed legs and feet.

  Margie’s fat, angry body crowded the door. ‘You can’t disturb Mr Hirsch without an appointment!’

  Hamish glanced up, annoyed. His blue eyes scanned Lisette up and down, then stuck, wide and unblinking, on the young woman’s erotically draped lower limbs, her provocatively packaged peds. ‘Uh, th-that’s all right, Margie!’ he stammered. ‘I’ll, uh, see her.’

  Lisette smiled with relief, then with intent. She fluttered her fingers at Margie, looking up from the stricken man to that family portrait above his desk. She’d only realised it later – as she lay rubbing her pussy in the tub the previous evening, thinking and scheming – that Mrs Hirsch was sitting in the middle of the painted couch, surrounded by her many children, with her long legs crossed, one planted on the ground in a posed, toe-arched position, while the other dangled lithe and gleaming from her knee, both legs and feet bare. That’s when she’d discovered the secret to Hamish Hirsch’s suck-sex: the way she could make strides in the company.

  ‘Sh-shut the door, please, Margie!’ Hamish gasped, bright staring eyes locked on Lisette’s perfectly posed stems.

  Margie grunted and retreated.

  Lisette strutted forwards, journeying long-legged, around Hamish’s desk, up to the seated man. He pushed back in his brown leather executive chair and she hit an armrest with the pointed tip of her shoe to spin him around to face her, literally putting her best foot forward. And then putting her foot down–in between the gaping man’s legs.

  She had nothing to lose now, everything to gain. She’d found Hamish’s sexual Achilles heel, and it was attached to her slender foot, and ran all the way up her thirty-inch leg. She pressed the tapered scarlet tip of her shoe downwards, into Hamish’s crotch.

  He groaned and quivered. His arms hung down on either side of the chair, his legs apart. His mouth was open, his square-shaped face beaming, eyes shiny and glassy. He was looking down at his crotch, at the point of Lisette’s shoe pressing on his groin. She could feel his swelling excitement right through the leather.

  ‘Unstrap me,’ she breathed, pushing Hamish’s bloating erection around.

  He looked up at her face, then back down, along her bent leg to her foot. His arms came up, large, hairless hands shaking. His mouth snapped shut and his gulp was audible to Margie in the outer office as he brought his hands together, wrapped trembling fingers around Lisette’s leather-twined ankle.

  They both moaned.

  The man’s hands were hot and damp on Lisette’s slender ankle, the padded palms pressing right through her stockings, against her bare skin, the blunt fingers curling around. Her pussy tingled, almost fully exposed with her skirt riding up her raised leg.

  She wasn’t wearing any panties, just red-rosed black garter straps on her toned upper thighs, hooked to the black tops of her stockings and the black belt around her trim tummy. She drew her skirt right up to her narrow waist, showing Hamish her garters, the brown fur of her pussy.

  He gripped her ankle, caressed it, winding his fingers round and round, gazing up her one bent stockinged leg at her garters an
d pussy, down her other straightened stockinged leg. Then back at her foot positioned in between his legs, planted on the pulsating length of his fully engorged cock.

  ‘Unstrap me,’ she said again, firmly.

  He blinked. Then he fumbled with the red spaghetti straps holding the shoe to Lisette’s foot. Somehow he got them unfastened, slowly and shakily unwrapped them from the young woman’s ankle. Then he swallowed hard, gripped the back of the shoe, tilted it down and pulled it away from Lisette’s black-stockinged foot.

  Lisette lifted her foot and her shoe slid off into Hamish’s grasping hands.

  He watched her bared foot ease away. Until he caught the spicy leather scent of the empty shoe in his hands. And then he pressed his nose into it, against the slim, curved, damp, pale-leather inner sole. He breathed deeply, raggedly, inhaling the musky aroma, his eyes closed rapturously.

  Lisette nestled her stockinged foot back down in between Hamish’s legs, onto the throbbing lump in his trousers. She pumped her ped, stroking the hardened length of the man’s cock, softly gripping it with her toes, gently brushing it with the rounded ball of her foot.

  Hamish stuck out his thick pink tongue and licked the naked sole of Lisette’s shoe. He tilted the sexy high heel up to his face, holding onto the spike heel and the pointed tip, and dragged his tongue up and down the contoured sole. He rode the wet leather rollercoaster with his outthrust mouth-organ over and over, while Lisette pistoned his cock with her foot.

  Her pussy brimmed with sensation as she pushed her foot back and forth on his bulging erection, watching the enthralled man devour her sole. It was powerful, passionate, the once mighty businessman now a plaything for her perfect peds.

  She felt his cock surge, spasm under her stroking foot-tip, and she rushed a trembling hand down to her dripping pussy, fingers finding her swollen clit and rubbing. She shuddered and cried out, fired with emotion, her toes locking around Hamish’s spurting cock. He grunted and jerked, hot, sticky semen filling his silk shorts and staining his pinstriped trousers, his tongue swirling around the stunning spike heel of Lisette’s wanton shoe, lips sucking and sucking and sucking on the hard leather stem.

  Lisettepulled her foot off Hamish’s spent cock, her shoe out of his gripping hands. ‘So, I’ll be the last one standing in payroll, won’t I, Hamish?’ she said, reheeling.

  Hamish’s arms dropped back to his sides, limp, his shoulders slumping. ‘Actually … my father-in-law has final say over all personnel decisions.’

  Tears misted the man’s eyes as he watched Lisette angrily stamp her foot and stride out of his office.

  ***

  Powell Clermont, founder and owner of Consolidated Enterprises, had a summer home out in the country. Lisette obtained the address from the employee personnel database after going through Betty Foster’s desk and finding the password taped to the underside of a can of mints labelled ‘employee database password’.

  An hour of twisting country-road driving put her at the black iron front gate of Powell’s rural property. A six-foot-high wrought-iron fence guarded the acreage, the white-brick, two-storey house just barely visible from the road through the leafy trees.

  Lisette parked on the side of the road and got out of her car. It was a clear, sunny, beautiful day, as days of reckoning often are. The yellow sun beamed down on Lisette’s shiny chestnut hair and gleaming white legs. She’d stopped at her apartment to change before heading out, not knowing anything about Powell or his preferences.

  Now she was wearing the red satin top with the popped-open buttons, the tight white pants converted to tight white shorts, her legs bare, the red leather spike heels strapped to her bare feet. Only six months into the business racket, and she’d already learned efficiency, how to think on your feet–combining tits, ass and legs into one flagrant feminine package. She knew her brains would never get her a place in the country like Powell’s, so she used the best of what she had, and she had a lot to offer that powerful men liked.

  After scaling the fence with some difficulty, Lisette strode across the emerald expanse of front lawn up to the gleaming red door of the house.

  A woman answered the doorbell. ‘May I … help you?’ she asked, predatory eyes travelling down Lisette’s lusciously clad and exposed body.

  ‘I have important business with Mr Clermont,’ Lisette stated.

  ‘I’m his wife, Bernice.’ The grey-haired middle-aged woman drew the door closer to her, ready to close it. ‘Powell’s busy at the moment. Can I give him a message?’

  ‘No message,’ Lisette replied tersely, realising she’d never get past the front door. The woman’s frumpy dress and sagging body gave no indication as to her quarry’s anatomical attribute preferences.

  Lisette stepped back as Bernice closed the door in her face. The young woman had seen smoke coming from the chimney of a small building in the backyard of the property, and she knew that where there was smoke, she could start fire. So she ducked under the front window and strolled around the side of the house, into the backyard and over to the building at the rear.

  It was the size of a garage, built out of more of the same white brick, a metal overhead door on the side. Lisette knocked on the black wooden door at the front of the building. It was a hot day, and all the exertion had dewed her ivory skin with perspiration, making her face and legs and the rounded portions of her exposed breasts glow.

  A man yelled from inside, ‘What the hell is it now, Bernice?’

  Lisette swallowed, gripped the brass doorknob, turned it and pushed the door open. She walked into the small building, stumbling slightly in her high heels over the lip of the door.

  It was a workshop, a single large room with a concrete floor and a beamed ceiling. Woodworking and automotive benches and tools filled the space, and a forge fire burned against the far wall. A man sat on a stool at one of the benches, a wooden dowel in his large hands, a smoking pipe in his large mouth. An unfinished kitchen chair was propped up on the bench in front of him.

  He had a full head of silver hair and a silver goatee, a thin, rugged, handsome face, grey eyes, red lips and a Roman nose, broad shoulders and a lean, muscled body. He looked at Lisette as she threaded her way past the benches and through the scattered wood chunks and car parts to where he sat.

  She moved carefully, her large brown eyes locked on his. And she soon had an answer to her burning question: Powell Clermont was staring at her legs, her long, bare, smooth-skinned lower limbs whose lean thigh muscles rippled and sinewy rounded calves clenched as she negotiated the obstacle course and walked up to the top decision-maker at Consolidated Enterprises. She stopped in front of his workbench and planted her stems wide apart, her fists on her hips.

  ‘I work for you, Mr Clermont. And I’m willing to do anything to keep on working for you.’

  Powell’s wide eyes were glued to the young woman’s spread legs. They followed the strident appendages, every erotic clench and ripple, as Lisette suddenly scaled the workbench and stood on her spike heels, towering over the awestruck man with her skyscraper legs.

  ‘Feel them!’ she rasped. ‘I brought them for you.’

  His pipe dropped out of his mouth and clattered to the floor along with the dowel. He lunged forwards, his huge hands shooting out and clamping onto Lisette’s slim ankles. She wobbled in the air, realising the intensity of the man’s passion for peds and legs as his hands blazed against her bare skin.

  Lisette watched, felt, as Powell’s damp palms slid upwards, travelling all over her muscular calves, strong fingers roving around the vulnerable soft backs of her knees, hairy hands widening up and onto the vibrating stringed muscles of her thighs. He rose to his feet, gliding his hands up and down the lushest parts of her trembling legs.

  It was hot in the room, stuffy. Lisette popped open the button on her shorts, pushed them down off her pussy. He took them the rest of the way, lowering the small garment down her long legs, caressing and stroking and clasping her lower l
imbs every sensuous inch of the way as he did so. When he finally reached her feet, she lifted her high heels, one at a time, and he pulled her shorts off and flung them away. There were streaks of more than perspiration on Lisette’s creamy-white inner thighs, where her pussy had leaked sticky juices.

  ‘Kiss my feet, lick them!’ Lisette ordered from her lofty position.

  Powell’s glittering eyes focused on her feet, erotically arched in the red leather heels. He placed his heavy hands on the humped tops, covering the tender skin, then stroked and petted her peds. He fingered the long, bulb-topped, red-painted toes. Then he bent his silver head down and kissed one arch, then the other.

  Lisette shivered from her kissed feet all along the lengthy expanses of her legs. She unbuttoned her top and shrugged it off. She grasped the shimmering mounds of her breasts and squeezed them, slid her slender fingers out to the pointed pink tips and pinched, rolled, as Powell tongued the tops and toes of her feet, licking long and wet and hot.

  ‘Lick your way up my legs, to my pussy!’ With the man totally under her control, she would get him to prove his ultimate enslavement–by eating her out.

  Powell didn’t hesitate. His hands slid back up to the sculpted contours of Lisette’s legs. He grasped and groped her stems all over again, adding his lips and tongue and teeth to the erotic skyward adventure, licking around her ankles and along her shins, kissing the hard shells of her knees, biting into the meaty flesh of her thighs. Reaching the dizzying apex of her limbs, he pressed his mouth into the downy brown fur and pouty pink lips of her pussy.

  ‘Yes!’ Lisette yelped, unable to control herself.

  She deigned to grab onto Powell’s bobbing head, sinking her sharp claws into his soft silver hair, as the enthralled man gripped her thighs and lapped her pussy, painting her panting slit with his tongue. He licked hungrily, urgently, anxious to fulfil her command – fulfil her.

  Lisette quivered on the end of his stroking tongue, her breasts jumping and legs quaking, pussy and body burning. The man’s budded tongue excitedly dragged her engorged clit one too many times, and she shrieked and shuddered, orgasm bursting between her legs and storming through her body and being.