by Juniper Bell
“Is that a problem? I find it…confining.”
I nearly snorted at the way she batted her eyelashes. “Not at all. In fact, underwear is frowned on here at Cowell, Dirk & Arthur. Unless it looks like this.”
I unbuttoned my sweater to reveal my bustier, and trailed my fingers across the flesh that plumped over the top.
Her eyes gleamed. “I see. Would something like this do?” She peeled off her jacket and dropped it to the floor. Underneath she wore a see-through camisole. Her breasts sat high on her chest, plump and proud, dark nipples shadowing through the thin fabric.
“Let me consult my superiors.” I turned to Ethan and Simon, who both leaned against Ethan’s desk, trying hard not to laugh. “Gentlemen?” They snapped to attention. Simon prowled toward Belinda, whose eyes went wide. I knew what it was like to be pinned by that lust-narrowed green gaze.
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “Not bad.” He reached his hand into her hair and undid her bun. Her hair came tumbling down, a shower of rich espresso brown. He still had the ruler in one hand, and used it to lift one nipple. It swelled against the wood. Her nipples were the color of red wine. “I think it would look a lot better if your nipples stood out more. Arch, please.”
She arched her chest for the ruler. Simon used it to stimulate one nipple, then the other, then returned to the first one with a harder touch. By the time he was done she was gasping and wiggling back and forth in her chair. Her nipples had lengthened and swollen to the size of corks.
“Put your hands behind your head,” said Simon.
She obeyed immediately. The motion made the camisole pull tight against her aroused breasts.
I squirmed in my chair; the sight was getting me turned on.
“You both seem a bit uncomfortable,” Ethan noted. “Perhaps we should finish this interview with fewer clothes. It is Friday, after all.”
“Friday?” I frowned, puzzled.
“We have to make sure Belinda is okay with our newly instituted Dress Down Friday policy.”
“Right.” Simon slapped the ruler against his palm, making both Belinda and me jump. “On Dress Down Fridays, every hour we get to remove another piece of your clothing. Is that acceptable to you, Belinda?”
She nodded and ran her tongue over her lips.
“Dana?”
I caught the glint in Simon’s eye, his ghost of a wink, the subtle shake of his head. He wanted me to say no.
“I don’t know…” I hesitated.
“You always have options, of course,” said Ethan. “If you choose to argue with company-mandated policy, you can choose to pay the consequences.”
Oooh, consequences. Gotta love those consequences.
I stuck my chin out. “Fine, I’ll accept the consequences. This bustier isn’t exactly easy to take off.”
“Your choice.” His voice suddenly cracked like a horsewhip. “Bend over the desk.”
I scurried to the desk and bent over, resting my elbows on the cool blond-wood surface. I peeped up at Ethan’s face. His eye were narrowed, intent. This had gotten very real, very quickly.
“Simon, lift her skirt. Belinda, you come next to her. We value team spirit here at Cowell, Dirk & Arthur. One for all and all for one.”
Belinda joined me at the desk, the little hairs on her arm brushing against mine. I smelled her excitement, sharp and tangy.
Ethan reached into the opening of my bustier and popped out my nipples, giving each a sharp, intoxicating twist. He did the same with Belinda, drawing down her camisole and lifting out her long nipples. He skimmed his thumb across them thoughtfully. She mewed at his touch.
I wondered if Standish was enjoying his show as much as I was.
Simon came behind me and lifted my skirt with the ruler. He stroked the wood across my rear. My flesh shivered in anticipation.
“Spread your legs for Simon, both of you.”
We all knew it wasn’t just for Simon. If he was looking at his monitor, Standish had a lovely view of my ass bare above the thigh-highs. I stood with my legs farther apart. Belinda moved against me, and I knew she was doing the same thing.
Ethan left us in that position, our breasts heaving in the empty air, and walked around to our rears. His presence was so magnetic, I knew exactly where he was at each moment. I felt the heat of his body just before his strong hand dipped into my pussy, testing, nipping at my wet folds.
“My, my, Ms. Arthur, it seems you like having an audience. But then, I’ve always known you have a bit of the exhibitionist in you.”
My head dipped. Exhibitionist sounded bad, wrong. But it was true. He’d always played with that idea, painting scorching little scenarios with his words. But for the first time, someone was actually watching us and that extra tension went right to my head. And to my pussy. And to my tight, aching nipples.
He withdrew his hand and stepped over to Belinda.
“Belinda, you fit right in here. Don’t worry, my beauty, we’ll tend to you as soon as we’ve dealt with our rebellious receptionist. Why don’t you take a seat until we’re done here.”
The warm body next to me left, so I was all alone, bare-assed against the desk. Deliberate footsteps sounded, then Ethan came back around and lifted my head from its duck of shame.
“None of that. I adore your secret streak of exhibitionism. Anyone would be privileged if you chose to exhibit your luscious body to them. I’m sure Standish can’t take his eyes off your sweet flesh. Your tender thighs, your pink lips studded with moisture, just waiting for a tongue to work its way into you. Your perfect ass, longing for a swift spank.”
And it came, the ruler cracking through the air onto my rear. Adrenaline fizzed through me. Ethan’s fingers went back to my nipples, tightening like screws. He kept tugging on them with rough tweaks, as if he was trying to pull an orgasm straight out of my body. My eyes hazed over and I panted like a dog in heat.
“Jesus,” I breathed.
Another spank sang against my ass. My flesh shook, my knees threatened to give way. Maybe this was just for show, but Ethan and Simon always gave one hundred percent no matter what.
A shift in the air behind me told me that Simon had changed position, maybe to give Standish a better view. He rubbed his hand in circles on my ass, soothing the sting from my skin. Then he ran the ruler up the inside of one thigh, across my dripping sex, then down the other thigh. It trailed moisture across my skin. Then it delved into the source of all that wetness. I groaned as it encountered my clit, heavy and throbbing. The hard wood rubbed me gently, then when I pushed myself eagerly against it, more insistently.
“We’re going to give you a little orgasm, my dear one, then you’ll finish interviewing our applicant. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled as Simon plunged his hand into my sex with a hard stroke of my clit that brought me off instantly. I spasmed on the desk, rocking against his hand, knowing I wasn’t the only one experiencing ecstasy at that moment. I gave a mental air-kiss to the invisible Standish. Then I lost myself in the rush and tumble of my intense climax.
When I came out of it, Ethan was gazing into my eyes with feral command. “Tend to Belinda. I want her to come as hard as you just did. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your name.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stood up, got control of my runaway heart rate, pulled my skirt down. Simon helped Belinda to her feet. She looked like she had a fever, all pink and blotchy. I knew the look on her face—complete and utter envy. That expression told me what she wanted. A taste of what I’d gotten.
I straightened my spine—the bustier worked great for that—and flung my voice the way Ethan did, like a lasso. “So, you think you deserve a job here?”
“Yes, I…I think so.” Breathless, she fluttered her eyelashes.
“Then get your ass over here. Show me you can handle it.”
“Right away.”
She hurried to the desk. I put my hand in the small of her back and pushed her down, to her squeak of sur
prise. Her hips were flush against the desk, her ass round and vulnerable, even though still covered in blue rayon blend.
“When I say I need something, no dawdling. You obey, right away.”
“Yes.”
“Now let me see how much Simon spanked your ass. Don’t move.”
I pulled up her skirt. Her ass cheeks had streaks of pink across them. Her pussy lips glistened. I’d never made a woman come before. But I knew what I liked, and that would have to be enough. I kept one hand pressed on her lower back and kicked her legs apart with my foot. She wore black boots that came to her knees. Her skin was more olive than mine, smooth and hairless compared to a man’s.
Was this how I looked when I was bent over to receive Simon or Ethan? Did my ass cheeks tremble, did the lips of my sex pout in that beckoning way? I experienced a rush of pure power. I could do anything to this woman right now. And she would like it. I felt the quiver of her spine under my hand, the jump of blood pumping through her veins. She squirmed microscopically, an involuntary movement that told me how hard she was trying to follow my instructions not to move. I knew that feeling—vibrating on the edge of a curling wave of orgasm. The men had gotten her to the boiling point. Now I had to bring it on home.
Without warning, I plunged my hand between her legs. Her sex felt hot and unbelievably silky. Her pussy surrounded me with warmth and wetness. It drenched me, as if I were exploring a tropical forest. I sorted through the delicate tissues until I found a hard, swollen nubbin.
Was that how my clit felt to my guys when I got turned on? Did it poke out, like a stubborn pebble? I rubbed it and felt her shake in response. What a freaking rush it was, having this control. I wanted to give her a taste of the ecstasy I got to experience all the time. I found the spot that seemed to make her moan the hardest and moved my finger faster, until she bucked hard against my hand.
I glanced over my shoulder at Ethan and Simon. Both leaned forward in their chairs, watching me with expressions of such ferocious arousal I nearly came all over again.
I turned back to my task. I worked one hand into her hot pussy. With the other I kept her hips pinned to the desk so she could feel my dominance.
“Don’t come until I tell you.”
Her head moved. Her eyes were shut tight, her face bright red, her fingers clutching at the wood of the desk. I kept her there, letting the tension build, the blood pump, the flames burn brighter…
And then—
“Now,” I said, pushing my finger against her thickly swollen clit. It lurched, or maybe she did, but suddenly her entire body was quaking under my hands. I kept my fingers latched tight to her clit, knowing how she needed the pressure, even though it was like trying to steer a car in a windstorm. Her clit pulsed like a hot little beating heart. I felt my own pussy throb as if answering the call. She let out a chorus of shrieks and groans as she rode out the orgasm with the three of us watching.
When she lay panting on the desk, drained of every last bit of her climax, I patted her sex and helped her rise. At first she didn’t want to meet my eyes—I probably would have been the same way. But I offered her a big, beaming, kind smile.
“You did great. You’re definitely our top candidate. If you’re interested, we’d love to have you back for another interview sometime. Right?”
Ethan and Simon joined us. Their professional facades couldn’t hide the hot, turned-on look in their eyes. “Absolutely,” said Ethan. “We hope you’ll come again.”
At that little double-entendre, her shy look bloomed into a smile. “It would be my pleasure. Thank you all for the opportunity.”
I nodded graciously—happy to help.
Simon helped her get dressed and ushered her out of the office. Ethan clicked a button on the computer. The two of us stared at each other tensely. No watchers now. No Standish, no Belinda, not even Simon.
“You never cease to amaze me, Dana Arthur.”
I knew what he really meant by that. “I love you too, Ethan Cowell.”
Simon came back in. He locked the door behind him. He tossed the ruler aside. And we all went wild. We ripped each other’s clothes off. We pounced on each other. They rolled me around on the carpet like crazed beasts. I begged for their cocks in my mouth, but as soon as I had one—Ethan’s—it wasn’t enough. I kneeled on the floor and spread my thighs wide for Simon, arching my back to urge him into my pussy. He drove into me, rocketing my body against the massive cock that threatened to overflow my mouth.
I worked the muscles of my throat around the giant intrusion, the invader I loved with every cell of my burning, pulsating body. My two lovers filled me from both ends, from my eager mouth to my avaricious cunt. Hot grunts flew into the air. Skin slapped against wet, sweaty skin. Fingers dug into flesh.
As the orgasm crested within me, as their essence poured into my mouth and exploded in my pussy, I knew I was no longer only Dana, no longer a receptionist or a partner or a separate being at all. Once and for all, I’d been unleashed.
About the Author
Juniper Bell is a multi-published, bestselling author of erotic romance. She lives with her husband in a cabin in Alaska with sporadic running water and a spectacular view of glaciers. She wound up in the frozen north after leaving her career as a stressed-out Los Angeles TV writer. Luckily, her love for writing survived the move, and she soon discovered a surefire way of heating up those long winter nights. Visit her website at www.JuniperBell.com, her blog at AuthorJuniperBell.blogspot.com, friend her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter as @AuthorJuniper.
Look for these titles by Juniper Bell
Now Available:
…the Receptionist
Training the Receptionist
Restraining the Receptionist
Doll
Every deal has a loophole.
Restraining the Receptionist
© 2011 Juniper Bell
…the Receptionist, Book 2
Dana Arthur’s new job with the firm of Cowell & Dirk is going well. Translation: the occasionally kinky ménage with her two bosses, Ethan and Simon, has been several months of politically incorrect bliss.
Except the relationship feels unbalanced. While Ethan is the undisputed master, the partners’ iron-clad agreement stipulates that Simon must be present as she performs her “duties”. And she senses there’s a subtle, powerful tug-of-war developing for more than just her body.
Simon had agreed to share the firm’s fiery, sensually daring receptionist…to a point. With Simon out of town, Ethan plans a feast of erotic temptations designed to have Dana begging him to break the deal. He didn’t realize his heart would be a casualty.
Once she surrenders to his wicked demands, Dana realizes there’s no going back. It’s time for a three-way renegotiation…this time, all or nothing.
Warning: NSFW!! Do Not Try This at Your Job. Contains highly inappropriate workplace behavior including m/f/m, m/m, bondage, creative use of office space and a high-stakes trip to Atlantic City.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Restraining the Receptionist:
My unpredictable number one boss showed up in a new mood the next day. I’d never seen him light-hearted before. Now that I had an idea about his history, not a big surprise. But that’s exactly how he seemed when he breezed into the office. He wore casual clothes, blue jeans and a light blue open-collared shirt that made his eyes look like summer without the smog.
“I’ve got no pesky clients today, luv,” he told me, without pausing by my desk to check my outfit, which he usually did. “I’d like you to order us a picnic lunch.”
“Huh?”
“Picnic. You have those in America, right? Or are they banned in the great state of New York?”
“We have them, but you can’t even spread out a blanket without kicking aside a stray used needle or two.” As soon as I said it I remembered the heroin. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammered.
But my thoughtless reference didn’t make him miss a beat. “A little local color will add to
the experience, I’m sure. Handle the details and we’ll go around noon.”
Did a picnic violate the terms of our deal? Ethan and I would be doing something outside of work, just the two of us, something intimate. Almost like a date. But he hadn’t suggested anything physical. It was lunch. We both had to eat, right? It seemed perfectly harmless.
Since I was working from the company petty cash fund, I called up the neighborhood yuppie café where they served giant organic sandwiches. On my budget, I would have gone for a Subway footlong. But Ethan would no doubt demand something better.
We held our picnic on a concrete bench in a sweltering park a few blocks away from the office. Dog walkers and stroller-pushers, listless from the heat, wandered by now and then, but otherwise we were alone. The humid heat pressed on us like a steam iron. My hair stuck to my cheeks as I bit into my upscale sandwich.
Ethan didn’t comment on the slabs of free-range chicken that had probably been hand-raised and read bedtime stories before being slaughtered and inserted into a sandwich. He did remove the unruly mound of bean sprouts and toss it to a nearby pigeon. The pigeon pecked at the stuff, clucked scornfully and waddled the other direction.
I couldn’t help giggling at Ethan’s wounded expression. “I wouldn’t take it personally,” I told him. “He’s a New York pigeon. He’s used to eating dog crap.”
He chuckled. “Have you lived here your whole life, Dana?”
The sheer ordinariness of the question unnerved me. “Well, except for that semester abroad in Paris, and the year I spent in Fiji with the Peace Corps. I’m joking,” I added, when he didn’t laugh.
“Oh. Well, I’m certainly familiar with your sense of humor, but I confess I don’t understand the joke. You could have done those things.”
I let out a spurt of laughter that startled the pigeon. “I had other things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like dodge my father’s fists after a drinking binge.”
