by Kerri Sharpe
‘Ms Demmings – Catherine!’ he wailed, warning me that he was about to bubble over with excitement, so enthused had he become with my sales pitch.
I released his cock, let it twitch in the hot wind of my breath for a moment, looking at it eye to pre-come-glazed eye. And after the spunk in his balls had settled down a bit, I opened my mouth and vacuumed him into my warm, wet mouth, consuming him.
‘Yeah,’ he groaned, giving tacit approval to my executive actions. His knuckles whitened on the edge of the desk as he looked down at me, and I expertly sucked him, my tongue running a slippery descent down his rock-hard shaft.
I mouthed more and more of him, scrubbing the sensitive underside with my tongue tip as I did so, revelling in my position of power and feeling myself moisten with every enhanced, enthusiastic gesture I made.
‘Mmmm,’ I moaned, sending oral vibrations coursing through Malcolm’s overwrought body, hot, humid breath steaming out of my flared nostrils and against his crotch. I pulled back a bit, released half of his glistening length and then gobbled him up again.
I got a tried and true sucking rhythm going, bobbing my head up and down with my free hand tickling his balls. He gripped my shiny raven hair in his sweaty hands and grunted, and I gazed up at him from between his legs, my mouth full of his cock, my head full of triumph at the easy seduction I had perfected.
‘Fuck almighty!’ he called out, blaspheming into the air-conditioned room, yanking my head into his body and desperately churning his hips, frantically pumping himself to oblivion. I wondered what was going through his mind; did he really think that he was the one in the powerful position? He’d probably imagined that he’d been the one to seduce me – the archetypal ‘ice queen’ older woman. If only he knew. Poor dumb sap. Then he threw his head back, bellowed like a beast and shot superheated spunk directly down my throat.
I grasped his quivering ass with my talons and milked that dick, my cheeks billowing in and out with the effort, my throat constricting around his spurting hood, drinking in his lusty load. And when he eventually squirted his last white dollop of surrender, I disgorged his cock and licked the remnants of his integrity off its softening tip. Then I smacked my slimy lips with the satisfaction at a deal gone down well, and asked, ‘Any more questions, Mr Independent Auditor?’
A month or so after my oral exploration of Malcolm’s character, he unexpectedly reappeared in my office doorway. The audit fieldwork was long since over, and the financial statements, with a clean, unqualified audit opinion, issued.
‘Hello, Catherine,’ he said, striding in, before taking a seat without being asked.
I studied his plain, placid face, his bright, brown eyes and his authoritative body language. ‘I’m rather –’
‘Busy?’ he interrupted. ‘Sure. But not too busy to hear a business proposition.’ He crossed his stubby legs, folded his oversized hands in his lap. ‘I know that you’re defrauding this company of hundreds of thousands of dollars, Catherine – cutting cheques to companies you own for services never performed – in order to boost your take-home pay well beyond board-authorised limits.’
‘Get the hell –’
‘But I’m not going to report what I know to the various authorities … provided you hire me as your new vice-president of finance.’
I threw my pen down in disgust and angrily folded my arms beneath my breasts. ‘You little punk!’ I sneered. ‘I’ve spent twenty years building this company – my company – and I didn’t get this far by being blackmailed by premature ejaculates like you! There’s a camera in this office, child’s play, and it’s recording your extortion attempt, just like it recorded our off-the-books suck session last month, when you compromised your firm and your accounting designation by consorting with a client. Not to mention set yourself up for a conspiracy charge when you didn’t report what you knew. Sorry, buddy boy, no deal.’
He didn’t flinch. ‘My work has seemed pretty boring since I got a taste of the real world of high finance right here in your office. I used to think that good business was squeaky-clean business, but you showed me the way, Catherine.’
My eyes narrowed to gun slits, fired darts at him, willing him to back down. We were both in a bind – the one I’d fashioned for myself and he’d discovered, and the one I’d entrapped him in – and that was fine, as long as no one tried to tighten the tourniquet.
‘You’ve got plenty more to lose than I do,’ he went on, putting the screws to me. ‘I’m young and inexperienced; it’s easy to suck a guy like me in. But you’re old, I mean old-er and more experienced, with a company and personal reputation to protect.’ He smiled a bland smile. ‘So when do I start?’
My brass cupcake routine crumbled like the Enron empire as I realised he was right. ‘Next Monday,’ I said quietly, knowing when I was temporarily licked.
He shook his head, rubbed some salt in my gash. ‘Not soon enough,’ he said. ‘My father’s got a bit of money, Catherine, and, while he won’t give any of it to me, he’s always looking for a good investment. I told him about your company – not everything about the way you do business, of course – and he wants to invest. Provided that I’m in a position of authority to make sure things are done right.’ He stood up and walked around my desk, pulled me out of my chair and planted a sloppy wet one bang on my startled pucker. ‘And he and I both think I should start work here right away.’
As Malcolm brusquely pushed his tongue into my mouth, trapping my tongue, I consoled myself with the thought that the first rule of business is adaptation: embrace change or die. So, I wrapped my hands around the head of the newest member of my executive team and fought an erotic duel with his sticker. The kid wasn’t the best-looking stud I’d ever fucked for business reasons, but he was still plenty good enough to bring a tear to a mature girl’s pussy.
He told me to strip, and I unzipped my sapphire-blue Versace and let it puddle at my spike heels, as he calmly kicked off his shoes, pulled down his pants and shorts and let his hardened dick catch a breath of fresh air. The guy was as cocky as any young gun loaded with come could get, and his prick pointed directly at my puss, thick and throbbing. I awaited further instructions, willing to let him run the show – for now, anyway. ‘Let me see those big jugs of yours,’ he said tersely.
‘Of course.’ I unhooked my satiny blue bra and let my boobs tumble forth, hang huge and heavy, riding up and down on my chest as I breathed.
He grabbed my tits and roughly fondled the hot, firm tingling flesh. My mouth broke open and I moaned; his hands were feeling so very good on my ultra-sensitive globes and there was a certain new confidence to his manner. I moaned again when the jacked-up exec bent his head down and started licking at my nipples. I gripped his square shoulders and watched as he swirled his thick, wet tongue all over my flushed buds, before inhaling one into his mouth and pulling on it.
‘Yes!’ I hissed, my head swimming, my body electrified, making the best of a bad, bad situation.
Malcolm spat my glistening left nipple out of his mouth and swallowed up my other, sucking urgently on it. Then my blackmailer shoved my boobs together and bounced his head back and forth between my nips – tonguing, sucking, slobbering all over them until he topped off his tremendous tit-play by jamming my mounds so close together that he could tongue-slap both engorged nipples at once, which he did repeatedly.
‘I’ve always liked older women,’ my younger-by-half business associate confided, pushing my right breast up so that I could lick my own slick nipple. ‘They can teach me so much.’ He rammed his tongue onto my tongue, excitedly helping me to lap at my rigid nipple.
‘Fuck me,’ I ordered, when I could bear no more of his frustrating tit-play. The upstart never had the decency to try and find my sweet spot down below, or ask what I might want out of the situation, so the least he could do was give me his cock. I was aching for it between my legs, and my panties were soaking with excitement at his rough handling.
He unhanded my overstimulated boobs, led
me to the front of my desk, and then spun me around and bent me over the top of its gleaming, ebony surface. He fumbled with the straps on my garter, then tugged my dainty, cornflower-blue panties down my noir- stockinged legs. I lifted my heels out of my damp underwear and spread my legs, anxious now to culminate our merger. I’d deal with the ramifications of our unholy alliance later – when I’d orgasmed a time or two.
Malcolm stroked the luxurious silk that covered my lithe legs, then abruptly grabbed my bare ass with one hand and ramrodded his cock into my sopping pussy with the other.
‘Yes!’ I shrieked, not giving a damn if my entire staff piled into the office to find out just what sort of transaction was going on.
Malcolm’s dick dived deep into my greasy sex till he was balls-to-the-walls. Then he started pumping his hips, fucking my sodden snatch faster and faster, spanking my big, pliable butt cheeks with his hard-thrusting body as my damp hands squeaked back and forth on the high-polish desktop.
He sawed in and out for a good, long time. He was certainly getting his fill of high-class executive bitch and he seemed determined to have the upper hand this time around. He was loving the way our roles had reversed, with him the commander and me the subordinate. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pumped himself to a frenzy, till he finally leaned over on top of me, grabbed my tits and hissed in my ear, ‘I’m gonna fuck you up the ass.’
I didn’t utter a word of protest – if we were going to work dirty, we might as well play dirty.
He eased out of me, polished himself with spit and pussy juice, and then pressed the bloated head of his cock against my butt hole. I quickly reached back and parted my cheeks. There was no point whimpering and playing the virgin. I went full throttle into slut mode, welcoming his unholy intrusion into my anus. I groaned, overcome with a heavy, languid heat as Malcolm’s prick sank into my bum.
‘Fuck my ass,’ I whispered, ‘fuck it.’ I was dizzy with the wicked sensation of his cock buried to the hairline in my violated bottom.
He moved his hips, slowly at first, then more rapidly, sliding his meat back and forth in my chute, bum-fucking me with an assurance that belied his tender years. Then he draped his body over the top of mine again, scooped up and squeezed my breasts, tongued up and down my neck, banging away at my back door.
I reached between my trembling legs and desperately buffed my puffed-up clit, frantically polishing it as Malcolm pulled on my nipples, swirled his tongue around my ear, and littered the air with obscenities. The dirty bastard was having a party. It was no surprise to me that this seemingly decent professional employee was an animal underneath. Scratch the surface of any office-bound accountant in his smart suit, with his spreadsheets and forecasts, and a beast will spring out at the right trigger – the sight of a moist slit and a little slutting around. Underneath the pretence to civilisation they all want to get a smart woman bent over and fucked.
The violent slapping of his thighs against my rippling butt cheeks grew more and more frenzied, until he jerked up and bellowed, ‘I’m coming!’ and blasted sizzling semen deep into my stretched-out anus.
I rubbed myself like a woman possessed, and a mammoth orgasm exploded at the thought of his raw lust finding its fruition. My climax thundered through my quivering body, and the contracting heat of my cunt spasmed and throbbed until I collapsed on top of the desk, exhausted and exhilarated. Malcolm collapsed on top of me; my pact with the devil had been signed in white-hot come.
Malcolm continued to fuck me up the ass, both literally and figuratively, and it wasn’t long before he and his father had virtually taken over my company. He installed himself and his dad on the board of directors, and put an end to my double-dipping in the company till. He used his father’s money to pay back the money I’d taken, giving me ‘a clean and honest start forwards’, as he kindly put it.
I put up with the reduced authority and salary and perquisites, playing the part of the reformed, repentant capitalist cheat, while I secretly worked on some strategic plans of my own. And, when I walked into Malcolm’s office late one night and caught him pecker-deep in the accounts receivable manager, I decided it was high time to take care of some unfinished business – old management school-style.
‘I’ve got a surprise for you, Malcolm,’ I informed him soon after his bad debts diddling, strutting into his office in one of my sluttiest ball-breaking outfits – a red, latex skirt and black, see-through top. My legs were clothed in their usual night-shaded colour, and I had a pair of silver-tipped stilettos strapped to my feet. My push-up bra had me spilling personality, but I wanted to make sure that young Malcolm realised just what he was going to be missing – and just how low-down dirty the pussy-eat-dog business world can really get.
‘Not interested,’ he stated dismissively from behind his desk. ‘I’ve got real work to do.’
‘Not interested in meeting my new husband?’ I pouted.
Malcolm’s father ambled into the office. ‘Hello, son!’ he hollered, snaking a stubby, covetous arm around my narrow waist. ‘What do ya think of your new stepmom? We got married last night in Vegas. Surprised?’
I kissed the morbidly obese, sixty-year-old type-one diabetic on the cheek. ‘We’re all one big, happy family now – at home and the office,’ I cooed, savouring the stunned, defeated look on Malcolm’s mug. To tell his father about my transgressions would force me to lift the rug on his own sleazy dealings, and that would make sugar Daddy very, very angry.
A smile of triumph graced my full-bodied lips. Malcolm gave me a cold, sour stare, as his father proudly eyed my voluptuous body like it was a trophy he’d just won at the crap tables. It was going to be just peachy living a life of pampered leisure for a change, while my stymied stepson and unhealthy hubby laboured to keep the family business humming. And, if anything should happen to my mate, well, I was more than willing to pick up his controlling interest and take over; I’d had a bit of experience running the company, after all.
Lisa Sedara’s story, Doing a Number on Him, appears in the short story collection Sex in the Office.
Ramraiders Nuala Deuel
SOFT, ROUND, NUT-COLOURED buttocks, lightly oiled and presented as though they were a dish waiting to be eaten … A pale-pink cock, fully nine inches long, as thick as a handrail, wrapped with nubbly blue veins that would ripple and rub against the tight hole readying itself to take all that meat in. A relatively tiny fist enclosing it, that of a petite woman, the glisten of painted lips parting to accept the impossibly large head. Large, unaugmented breasts on a skinny ribcage. Suki liked that. She liked the paradox. Plenty and paucity. Little women with big tits. That worked for her.
She reached out and traced a fingertip along their contour. The woman’s expression didn’t change from its cast of confused rapture. She looked, to Suki, as though she were concentrating on the sensations ripping through her body, focusing on her approaching orgasm. Suki rubbed her nipples, satisfyingly dark and erect against the white bounty. She would cup those beauties in her hands as she fucked her from behind, enjoying the way they jiggled and spread against her palms, as if they might spill over the edge at any moment. She imagined how her tight, shaven pussy would look as she parted it with a strap-on. The previous page had shown her with her legs wide apart, her arms interlaced across her torso (which helped to lift and separate her breasts between them), her fingers teasing her lips apart to show her deliquescent honeypot. Suki didn’t care if she’d lubed up before the shoot. She could pretend all that juice was from her horny core. And Suki could pretend that she was the reason it was there.
She was thinking about getting her knickers off for a lazy wank when the buzzer went. She quickly rolled up her copy of The Damp Patch and stuffed it into her holdall next to the untouched sandwich box and flask of hot chocolate. This was unusual, being disturbed during her shift. Suki pretty much ruled the roost in the empty warehouse from 8 p.m. till 6 a.m., when Malc took over, and a couple of diffident cleaners, who she never spoke to beyond
‘hi’ and ‘goodbye’, ran their mops over the floor in a desultory fashion. She patted down her tight navy-blue uniform as she made her way towards the entryphone. In the cavernous warehouse – that was rented by a European film studio to store props, costumes and timber for set construction – the angry swipe of her thighs rubbing together as she marched echoed like thwacks from a headmaster’s cane.
‘This is Ace Crime Prevention,’ she said into the receiver. ‘There is nobody from Cups and Cuffs Studios on site. If you leave me your name I’ll –’
‘Suki? Is that you? Suki Wilde?’ Something about the voice was familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it. The video screen showed four figures heaped in shadow: three men and one woman. All were dressed in long leather jackets. The man speaking into the grille also wore large mirror shades and a beanie. In one hand was a digital video camera, in the other a briefcase.
‘Yes,’ Suki said. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Hector Furst. I’m a film director. I’m big pals with Johnny Locke, your boss.’
Johnny Locke. The man with the little yellow chicken shapes on his tie and a rubber ring on his executive chair, who had been stroking her CV when she went into his office for an interview. Had stroked it for the next twenty minutes while he stared at her breasts and informed her she’d be getting five quid an hour, like it or bike it.
‘So what? You want me to turn a few cartwheels?’
‘I’d like you to open the door. Didn’t Johnny tell you I was in town today? That I would be using the warehouse?’
‘Using it for what?’
Furst held up the camera and waggled it at the CCTV. ‘Fil-ming,’ he said slowly, as if explaining to a child.
‘Nobody at Cups and Cuffs said anything about –’
‘I’m doing a film for Cups and Cuffs. And us chewing the fat about it is costing money. Do you want to let me in or do you want to carry on tickling my tits about it? Because when Johnny comes down here later and finds –’
