by Bridy McAvoy
“Well, at least give me a clue as to what to wear.”
You chuckled, kissed me again then whispered in my ear. “A nice dress would be good. Something sexy and maybe backless.”
“Oh, it’s that kind of a date.”
“No, it’s that kind of a place.”
I could only think of three or four restaurants in town which wanted that kind of dress code, so I knew you were splashing out. You’d let me go Dutch on the cinema tickets, and you’d occasionally let me pay for coffees or burgers, but when it came to restaurants you were very rigid in your old-fashioned views. I loved you for it.
We kissed again, and after another four or five minutes you got out of the car and we said our goodnights. I was almost certain you had another boner as you walked away.
I’m sorry, honey, it was a perfect night from my point of view. I’d managed to get another couple of barriers down, and you’d seen me topless and not been repulsed. I know, I know, my breasts are nice, and there’s nothing wrong with them—but a girl can have her insecurities, and I had mine too, together with a few neuroses after the way Mr. Bryant had dealt with me for the last eighteen months.
Chapter Six – The Other Bryants
Thursday was going to be a big day for me, and having dropped you off I made my way back home. Everything went into the laundry hamper and I have to say I didn’t even shower before falling into bed. I had remnants of your spunk drying on my chest, and even more of it on my legs. The fact it was yours made it perfect rather than horrible. I went to sleep like that, and had to really scrub myself in the shower the following morning.
That Thursday was very strange for me. Mr. Bryant was his normal self—the strain in the relationship so evident for the last three days seemed to have dissolved. Whether that was because I was in such a better mood after our date the night before or not, I don’t know.
What I do know is he didn’t touch me at all during the morning. When we closed at lunchtime he invited me back to the office, being very courteous. He sat down on his side of the desk and gestured toward the visitor’s chair.
“Are you okay about tonight, Sammie?”
I swallowed hard. “Not really, no. Will I go through with it? Yes. Will I complain afterward? No.”
“You don’t have to, you know.”
I shrugged. “I like my job too much to take a risk. It was my mistake last week, I know that now. I’ll pay the piper.”
He winced. “There’s no coercion involved.”
“Isn’t there?”
“No. Definitely not. If the two boys turn up there tonight and you tell them to just ‘Piss Off’, they will.”
“And then tell their sister and ruin my reputation and my career.”
He shook his head. “They’re my sons. Chips off the old block. Do you really think they’d do that? Do you think I would?”
I bit my lip. Sure he’d played me like a musician, but no, he’d been discreet at every opportunity. With the exception of the spankings, he’d made sure he had full consent first. If his sons were truly like him, then he was probably right.
“No, you wouldn’t, and I don’t think they would either.”
“They won’t. We had a long chat about it last night. All I have to do is make one phone call this afternoon and you won’t see them tonight. They’ll not say a word. I think Ric was just full of himself at the weekend. You made quite an impression on him you know—smitten would be one way to put it.”
I shook my head and smiled. “I’m spoken for.”
“I noticed the spring in your step this morning. Has he asked you yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“He will, and I think soon.”
“I think so too.”
“Will you?”
“Will I what? Say yes? For sure, but don’t tell him that.”
He laughed. “How would I do that? I don’t ever see him.”
We both sat silently for a few seconds. I guess we were at ease with ourselves. I no longer felt pressured about tonight, and it would appear my boss didn’t have many, if any, designs on me this afternoon.
“Shall I make that call?”
I looked up at him taking a second to process the question, then shook my head. “No, let them come. I’m not promising anything happens, but let them come. At least they can have a beer with me.”
“Don’t force yourself to do anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Coffee?”
“Good idea.”
I walked through to the kitchen and returned five minutes later with the mugs of coffee. When I entered the office the first thing I noticed was the visitor’s chair had been moved—it was now around his side of the desk. He gestured for me to put the coffee on the end of the desk but as I started to move toward the chair he held up a hand to stop me.
“Wha…?”
He grinned. “You did say you didn’t want me to touch you today, did you not?”
I swallowed hard. Yes, I had said that on Monday, but part of me wanted some sexual release this afternoon in order to make this evening easier. I nodded.
He clicked the mouse and the strains of one particular song started to fill the air, instantly recognizable as I like The Way You Move. I’d used that song to strip for him several times. Indeed, I’d even chosen it the first time I’d ever danced my clothes off to music for him. It wasn’t exactly rocket science to see where this was going.
He must have read the expression on my face. “I’m not going to be getting any from you today, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get any from yourself. Dance for me, baby. Dance for me.”
I hadn’t worn my sexiest version of my librarian’s uniform for him because I didn’t want to send the wrong signals but, as a matter of course, I had worn something sexier than on the previous days. It was a habit for me to dress up more on a Thursday. That was just as true of my underwear which was very much on the sexy side—powder-blue see-through lace holding up my taupe stockings.
“That’s naughty.”
“No, baby, what you’re going to do is naughty. Now I suggest you stop procrastinating and start dancing. I know you know how.”
I hoped he was referring to the times I’d stripped for him here in his office, and not an oblique reference to the previous Friday night when I’d stripped at the bar. It was clear he wanted me naked in his office, as much for his own gratification as my own, but once I was naked—what would he expect then? He said he wasn’t going to be getting any. Did that mean literally no sex, or no touching? If he meant no touching, the obvious conclusion was I’d be doing the touching myself—he was going to watch me masturbate instead, possibly while he masturbated behind his desk. I shuddered at the thought but I could feel things warming up in my core at the prospect. I’d thought I needed something to help me through tonight—now he was providing it, if not exactly in the way I expected.
Without pausing to think any more about it, I started to dance. In other words, I started dancing to stop myself overthinking the situation. I threw myself into my performance, moving easily and spinning to turn my back to him while undoing the top couple of buttons on my blouse. When I turned back I put my hands on my hips and bent forward, knowing the obvious relaxation of the neckline would display a hint of cleavage. Twice more I repeated the process, each time undoing another couple of buttons—this particular blouse had a myriad of buttons up the front, very closely spaced together.
Each time I turned to face him I bent a little lower. With the blouse that bit further undone, a bit more cleavage showed. He was smiling at me, seeing what I was doing and I took his smile as approval of the start of my performance. My hips had got a wiggle on now, never still, sometimes swaying, sometimes doing a classic bump and grind move. Every so often as I continued to undo the blouse, I ground my crotch against an invisible pole.
Once the blouse was completely undone, I moved to the front edge of the desk and leaned down until my breasts just t
ouched the surface. Keeping my head up enabled me to keep eye contact with him, and at the same time provided a view straight down the tunnel formed by my breasts and the desk surface. With him busy looking where I wanted, my hands flew to the back of my skirt, undoing the button and zip holding it up. I hung onto the skirt, straightening up before dancing away. As I let go the skirt slid down my legs, revealing the rest of my blue underwear and that all important area of bare skin above the stocking tops. My blouse joined the skirt on the floor and I turned around, giving him a view of my butt, encased in powder-blue lace.
He clapped his hands and I spun to face him, assuming a little girl pose—you know, finger to lips as if I’d been caught doing something naughty. He laughed and I turned to face away, bending forward so the lace stretched taut across my ass. As I straightened, my hands went to the small of my back and unclasped my bra, letting it sag off my shoulders and, catching it in front, used it as a shield as I faced him once more. I smiled at him, letting the bra drop to the floor but keeping my hands in place, covering my breasts. By then I was hot, my pussy was wet, and behind my hands, my nipples were little pointed rocks on the tips of my breasts.
Keeping that smile on my face, I danced around the desk and slid into the narrow space between where he sat and the oddly positioned visitor’s chair.
“I know I said you weren’t to touch…”
“But…?”
“Since my hands are busy, I’d like you to slide my panties off for me—pretty please.”
“It would give me a great deal of pleasure to help a damsel in distress out of her little problem.”
I giggled, the silly dialogue straight out of some English historical somewhere out on the main floor of the library. We were both enjoying ourselves.
I expected him to hook his thumbs through the elastic at the sides of my panties, but he had a different idea. He pulled me a little closer and then slid both hands inside my panties at the hips, palms inward. I stood still, allowing him to pull down but instead he slid his hands around me. Without warning he had one hand over my ass, and the other cupping my mound.
“Sir, you naughty man!”
He laughed as I continued the banter. In truth, he hadn’t surprised me that much, and he took his time sliding my panties down, managing to rub his fingers over my pussy as he did so, even pressing his thumb on my clit and inserting his middle finger up to the first knuckle between my slick folds.
“Oh, sir, you do take advantage!”
“Forsooth, you are no maiden, beloved, and not much better than a strumpet to be toyed with.”
I gasped. Although I thought it was still banter, he’d been just a bit insulting. Anyway, now my underwear was down around my knees, I was able to move away from any return of his probing fingers and allowed them to drop to the floor. Stepping out of them, I raised my hands above my head, entwined them and stood still, posing for him as the finale of my performance.
He killed the music and grinned at me. “Sit down, baby.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant the chair, which I now realized was angled toward him, or on the desk. He would often get me to sit on the desk, with my legs spread open showing him my naked pussy. That was usually the prelude to him eating me. For safety, I sat on the chair and crossed my legs so he could see my breasts but not my slit. As if that mattered given the number of times he’d seen it, eaten it, or fucked it.
“Open the top drawer, there’s something in there for you. Or, rather, two somethings.”
“For me?” I tried to sound ingénue but it came out a little high. The only things he’d ever removed from that drawer on a Thursday afternoon had been that dreadful table tennis bat and bondage equipment. My hand shook as I slid the draw open. It was empty except for two long packages. As I pulled them out of the drawer it became obvious what they were. They were both blister-packed sex toys. The first one was a rather large—I guess about eight inches long—dildo, rather thick and shaped rather lifelike. The other was a thinner vibrator, about six inches long.
“Wha…?”
“Don’t play the innocent, sweetie. I said you were going to get naughty, and you are. Unwrap them both, but I suspect you’d prefer to use the vibrator first, to get yourself ready for the fake cock.”
I knew he had that right. If I was going to do something with that dildo, I would need to be very wet—very wet indeed.
“But…”
“Stop playing for time, and get them unwrapped. Then start playing, baby. Playtime.”
I shuddered but did as he asked. The wrapping came off easily, but at least as they’d been wrapped I knew they were new, unused by anyone else. The vibrator started to move in my hand as I turned it on—obviously the batteries were already in it. Then I noticed the little plug-in cradle and realized it was rechargeable—one of the more expensive ones then. It was dry, obviously, and when I touched it, it felt nice but nothing more than that.
“Silly girl, you need to get it wet first. Since you don’t have any lube, I suggest you suck it. You might want to turn if off first though. I’ve heard it can make your teeth want to fall out if you have it turned on in your mouth.” He laughed uproariously at his own joke.
Personally, I didn’t find it funny. In fact, I was starting to lose the mood, becoming turned off, but I clicked the dial on the bottom to zero and it fell quiet in my hand. The garish purple plastic felt odd in my hand as I dutifully brought it up to my mouth and licked it.
Slipping it into my mouth, it didn’t taste bad—didn’t taste of anything—so I sucked at it. I closed my eyes, trying to think of it as a cock, but it was cold and hard in the wrong way. It didn’t feel anything like a cock, even if it was the right size and shape.
It didn’t take long to get it dripping wet and I slipped it out of my mouth with some relief, lowering my hands back to my crotch and pressing it against my pussy. Then I clicked it on.
I almost shot out of the chair in surprise. Unintentionally, I’d pressed the tip of it against my clit rather than my outer folds and the sensations induced by the vibrations were incredible. I went from zero to a hundred in nothing flat. I’d been getting turned off—now, fifteen seconds later, I was moaning and starting to churn my hips, getting into it.
Boy, was I ever getting into it. I pressed it harder against my clit and then slowly slid it down the length of my slit. It slipped into the gap between my outer folds without resistance and then I had the first couple of inches inside me. It felt incredible, unlike anything I knew. I had a small bullet vibrator at home—I’d had it for some months—but it didn’t feel like this did. I guess in terms of toys, size does matter. Because it was bigger they could fit a more powerful battery and, more importantly, a more powerful motor.
A minute later I’d increased the power setting a couple of notches and spread my legs apart, indeed hooking one leg over the arm of the chair, exposing myself to the incredible machine in my hand. I was sawing it in and out of my pussy and bouncing my hips around on the chair to receive it. I’m not sure I was even fully aware Mr. Bryant was still in the room at the time. I came, and as I slowed down I looked across at him with lust-lidded eyes.
“Wow!”
“Wow, indeed, baby. I think it’s time for something else.” He nodded toward the dildo and I knew I wasn’t going to be allowed to move until I’d fucked myself with that. “Get it wet, just like the other one.”
I kept the vibrator in my pussy, just the first couple of inches, running on a low setting as I picked up the huge dildo and brought it to my face. Unlike the hard plastic outer casing of the vibrator, this one felt softer in my hand. Still a hard core but a softer, more rubbery, surface, much more like a real cock. Not real, and not hot like a cock, but somehow less artificial—a halfway point between a cock and the vibrator.
“It’s huge.”
“Get it wet, you’ll be fine.”
I shuddered and opened my mouth, trying to slide the end inside. It felt too big and I even gagged for a moment. Actua
lly, I realized I’d made myself gag, and then knew that was what I’d need to do the first time I tried to take you into my mouth. Filing that bizarre extraneous thought away, I pushed it a bit further, trying not to notice the way my drool was dripping off my chin onto my breasts and running down between them to my belly.
Again, it didn’t taste nasty, but it didn’t taste of anything. A turn-off, except I’d just cum, and I had a vibrator buzzing away inside me. I pushed that a couple of inches further in, trying to keep my arousal level as high as possible. I know that sounds a bit cold, a bit calculating, but I’m trying to explain what was happening in my mind as well as with my body. I was naked, I’d just had quite a powerful orgasm and I knew I was only minutes away from another one—maybe a stronger one. But at the same time I was analyzing the new experiences, trying to work out where this was going.
Part of me wanted to remove my prohibition from my boss, just jump him there and then. I knew he was turned on from watching me—I could see the bulge in the front of his trousers. If I dropped the dildo and dived for the real thing I doubt he’d have stopped me. At the same time, I’d promised myself to put, at least some if not all, the shenanigans behind me. That train of thought stopped dead. Let’s be accurate about it. I was sitting there in just a garter belt, stockings and heels, with a vibrator buzzing inside my pussy and a ginormous dildo in my mouth. Stopping shenanigans—exactly what was I stopping?
I slid the toy out of my pussy and, switching it off, dumped it on the desk. I took a deep breath and slowly lowered the oversized dildo between my legs. The closer it got to its intended use, the larger it seemed. I’d never been a size queen—actually, never had a really big one. I’d had a small one, but it had been his technique that had left me unsatisfied rather than the size of his cock. Now, though, I was about to push something into me that was bigger than anything else. Sure, I knew at the back of my mind that it’d fit—I understood the biology on an intellectual level, but not on an emotional one.
“Push it in.”
I glared at Mr. Bryant and held it in place, pressing against my outer lips. They were slick from my own wetness, but I didn’t dare push too hard. I used my other hand to pull my lips apart, sliding it forward a bit more. My lips parted but it still felt too large.
