by Bridy McAvoy
It wasn’t that unpleasant, as a taste nor as a sensation and, as his cock pressed my tongue down to behind my teeth, it started to fill my mouth. I guess he could see the panic flare in my eyes and he stopped pushing forward, giving me a respite to allow me to regain control. The panic started to fade as I found I could still breathe through my nose. It wasn’t easy adjusting to the intrusion in my mouth. After a few more seconds I was surprised to find I’d accepted it in there. Even the taste was something I grew used to.
He started to pump in and out, slowly, no big movements, but he was in control, setting a tempo and range that he enjoyed and I was able to accommodate. I was amazed I hadn’t gagged on it. There was no doubt in my mind that he was enjoying it, though. His pace quickened, and he started pushing it further in. From comfortable and pleasurable it became uncomfortable in the matter of about a minute. I still wasn’t doing anything, just kneeling there with my mouth open. I knew, from what I’d heard, that I was supposed to suck on it, use my tongue, wrap my lips around it, but I did none of these things. I guess I just passively allowed him to fuck my face. As his movements grew, it started to reach the back of my mouth and my eyes must have got very big as he stared down into them.
“That’s right, baby, keep it open.”
The next thrust was harder still but I couldn’t pull away. He had one hand around my chin—well, almost around my throat. His other hand had grabbed the back of my head, his fingers circling and gripping my pony-tail. I gagged, I couldn’t help it. He chuckled and simply thrust again. I heard him groan then, as I gagged even more, my mouth flooded with saliva.
* * * *
“You never gagged with me. I thought you were so special that way.”
“By then, honey, I’d blown him so many times I could control my gag reflex. I’m sorry.”
“Hmm…”
I motioned for her to continue, still feeling angry, but resigned to the fact I was now hearing about things I’d never expected to hear.
* * * *
Another couple of thrusts, and I felt his cock expand in my mouth. I guess he knew what he was doing—he pulled part way out so he came in my mouth, not down my throat. His cock pulsed and something warm and sticky shot from the end, painting the back and roof of my mouth. I tried to scream but no sound escaped. Another spurt, and another, my mouth full to overflowing. Then, mercifully, he pulled out, and I tried to shut my mouth. Bile rose, and he let go as I clamped my mouth shut and rose to my feet in a tearing hurry. I made it into the washroom—just—but didn’t manage to close the door. I guess he could hear me, head down over the sink, puking up not just his spunk, but my lunch too.
When I stopped throwing up he was standing in the open doorway, looking at me. I glanced down, he was all zipped up, and looked immaculate. I, of course, looked anything but. Tears had streaked my makeup and I had drool and spunk trailing down across my chin, splashing down my chest and onto my stomach, even onto my thighs. I looked a mess, a real tramp, a total slut.
I cried then, cried in shame. Real sobs shook my body. He watched for a couple of minutes until my sobbing had subsided. I was still shaking, but I was at least quiet.
“Get yourself cleaned up, retouch your makeup, then go and retrieve your clothes. When you’re dressed, come back to my office.”
I nodded, unable to speak, and did as he asked. It took a while, probably twenty minutes, before I stood in the open doorway to his office and softly knocked.
“Better?”
“Yes.” He looked at me and I realized, from his point of view, I’d missed something. “Yes, thank you, Mister Bryant.”
Actually I was grateful for one thing—he’d told me to get dressed, not stay naked.
“Good girl. Right, two things. Firstly, next week I want you to bring a nice little black dress with you. Wear your usual outfit till closing, then change into the dress. Make it a sexy one. Wear the red underwear with black stockings. Get changed before you knock on my door. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perfect. Secondly, your doctor is Mike Gardener on the High Street?”
“Yes, it is.” I wondered how he knew, then remembered I’d had to fill in those details on my personnel card—he could double check any time, probably had while I was making myself presentable.
“Good, go and ring the surgery now, see if you can get an appointment for tomorrow. I’ll cover the desk while you go there.”
“Oh, why…am I going to see the doctor?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, clearly disappointed about something. “Because, if you remember, I told you to go on the pill, and you need a prescription for that. He may want to do a physical, but no bother. Your insurance covers the cost, so get a receipt from him.”
I went red. The idea of asking the family doctor, who’d looked after me since I was a small child, for a contraceptive prescription was a little too much for my delicate psyche at that moment.
“Problem?”
“Er…no, not really.”
“Good. Get cracking, we both still have work to do, don’t we?”
Chapter Five – The Swallow
I could see it had been upsetting for Sammie to tell me this, especially in such excruciating detail. If she thought that was upsetting though, she should be sitting where I was, hearing it. Up until this evening, I’d believed mine had been the only cock she’d ever sucked, and there was obviously a lot more of this story to come. Earlier I’d walked outside to get some air and let myself calm down. I loved my wife, but I was finding out I loved an image that she’d projected—not the real her she’d kept buried.
All my firsts, my special moments with the woman of my dreams, were being stripped away from me one by one. All my favorite memories, our first kiss, the first time I’d held her breast in my hand, the first time I’d seen her topless, the first time she’d blown me, the first time I’d fingered her to orgasm. At the time, all of them had been not just firsts with her but, according to her, firsts for her too. But it wasn’t true, any of it.
I could see she was hurting, but I could only hope she could see how much I was hurting from all this.
“Honey…”
“Just be still for a moment.”
“Okay.”
My voice sounded calmer than I felt—her voice sounded lonely and lost. I still didn’t understand why she’d told me so many lies. When we’d met I’d assumed she was anything but a virgin, only to be told she was pure and innocent. It had taken months to get her to make out, months to get to each stage in our relationship, let alone a ring on her finger to get her naked.
Now she was telling me it was all a lie. If this was what The Gazette was going to print, then she was in big trouble. I was in big trouble—my reputation would be shredded by this, too.
“How many more confessions do you have to make?”
She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a second. “Honestly? Too many.”
“Too many? What you’ve told me so far is too fucking much!”
She winced but didn’t argue. Given her usual feisty nature, that was surprising. Instead, she took another sip of her wine and looked down at the floor.
“I guess you’d better continue then. I have to get up to go to work tomorrow. We both do.”
She shook her head.
“Oh?”
“No, I’ve voluntarily put myself on suspension. I won’t be going back to work until after The Gazette publishes its story, if then. They’ll probably run me out of town on a rail before they let me set foot inside the library again.”
Given how much the library meant to her, I knew what that statement meant, and I didn’t really want to hear the rest of the story. I wanted to wipe the last hour from my head so I didn’t have to hear what she’d already told me. I had to let her tell me the rest though, as much as I was hating it.
“Go on.”
* * * *
I only owned one little black cocktail dress—it was going to be my senior p
rom dress, but I didn’t get asked and my mother had had it shortened to a mini, but I’d never worn it. I’d worn a black blouse and skirt to their funerals—I couldn’t wear a slinky black dress for that, could I?
Anyway, that dress met Mr. Bryant’s requirements perfectly, but I had a problem. It was silk and it would wrinkle badly if I left it bundled up in a bag all morning. So, Wednesday night, just before closing, I knocked on his office door.
“Enter.”
“Excuse me, sir, I have a little problem about tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
I crossed the room to stand in front of his desk and leaned forward so I could whisper. After all, there were still patrons in the library at the time. I knew he was getting a good view down my cleavage as I explained about the dress, but it didn’t matter, did it? He’d seen me naked, so there was no point in playing it coy, not now.
“No problem, you can put it in a suit carrier and hang it on the coat hook in the corner, here, then retrieve it at the agreed time.”
“Thank you, Mister Bryant.”
“Glad to be of service.” He rolled that last word around in his mouth as his eyes devoured my chest. I knew he was putting emphasis on the word for his own good reasons, and I knew that didn’t bode too well for me. “Please close the door behind you.”
“Thank you, again.”
Some form of devilry must have been in my head because, as I walked to the door, I crossed my feet in front of each other, making my butt sway from side to side as much as possible. A little dip at the end of each step turned it from a walk into a promenade—almost a full bump and grind. I heard his breath catch in his throat and smiled to myself as I closed the door.
I took the dress in a suit carrier to the library the next day, and at two o’clock knocked on his door. He called enter, and motioned me in and to the chair in front of his desk. He was on the phone, so I simply sat there, my legs crossed quite demurely, and cradled my hands in my lap. He held up two fingers and I tuned out as he continued his conversation with whoever was on the end of the phone. I heard him say bye, and looked over at him as he hung up.
“Sorry about that, sometimes it’s difficult to get the Chair of the Library Board off the phone. He can argue blue is black, if you ask me. Now, where were we?”
I knew it was a rhetorical question from the way he smiled at me. The smile seemed warm and genuine, but his eyes—they were predatory. I still didn’t understand about bringing the dress, but I knew that would be about to change.
“Change out of your uniform into the dress, please, Samantha.”
I sighed. I knew what the answer would be, but I had to ask. “In the washroom, or in here?”
His smile widened to a grin. “Well, seeing as how you’ve volunteered to entertain me by getting changed in front of me, it would be churlish to refuse, wouldn’t it?”
He chuckled as I frowned at him. I wondered, briefly, what would have happened if I’d simply picked up the carrier and taken it through without asking. Obviously, now, I’d never know. Rising to my feet, I started to cross the room to the coat tree in the corner, but he stopped me halfway, right in the middle of the room.
“Take the blouse and skirt off first, if you will, Sammie.”
I sighed in resignation then turned to face him across the expanse of his desk. I’d gotten used to this until last week, when he’d stripped me instead, so my movements were almost on auto-pilot as I unbuttoned the blouse and shucked it off my shoulders before dropping it down to my hands. As he’d asked, I was wearing the red lace set of underwear he’d told me to buy and, although he knew I owned them, he’d never seen them.
“Very nice, baby, very nice. Give me the blouse.”
I did as he asked, then watched in surprise as he carefully folded the garment and, opening the top drawer of his desk, laid it inside. The skirt was next, and once more he feasted his eyes on my scantily-clad body as the skirt followed the blouse into his desk.
I waited for him to tell me to remove the underwear, but instead he waved me over to the corner to retrieve the dress from the suit carrier I’d left there that morning.
“Show me the dress, baby.”
I felt quite self-conscious standing there in my red lace scanties, my black stockings and three-inch black heels. This was, I guess, a bit strange—I’d been kneeling naked on the same piece of carpet gagging around his cock only a week earlier. Removing the dress from its hanger, I held the top of the dress against me, using my other hand to smooth the skirt out where it flared.
“Very nice, Samantha. Very nice.”
“Thank you, Mister Bryant.”
His smile seemed genuine as did the compliment, so I smiled back.
“I do foresee a problem. One you may have not considered.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, your bra straps will show with that neckline.”
“Ah, I guess so. I didn’t realize it would matter.”
My mother had brought me a strapless white bra to wear with the dress to the prom I never went to. He had insisted on me wearing the red lace set, so I’d never stopped to consider any kind of wardrobe faux pas. I felt so stupid, having a man point that out to me. I could feel the heat rising to my face once more. Unbelievable. This man could make me blush at the push of a button—any button. Actually, every button.
I watched as he rose to his feet and, walking round to the front of the desk, beckoned me closer. As I stood in front of him I was careful not to crease the dress. He could see my problem and wordlessly took it from me, laying it on the polished leather top of the desk, which I now realized had been cleared before I entered the room. I eyed that wide expanse of cleared space very dubiously, my mind already thinking of several things that could happen to me on that desk! I wasn’t sure I was ready for any of them.
He walked around me, and I could feel his breath on the small of my back, then he walked back in front of me, peering closely at my chest. I felt like some kind of mannequin on display—it wasn’t a nice feeling.
“I thought so. Your bra is adjustable, my dear. Allow me.”
“Wha…?”
I stopped talking as his hands reached out toward my breasts. He moved slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook me. Too late—I was already spooked. I had no idea what he was going to do—really, I had no idea.
Mr. Bryant turned out to be a man of many talents and knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t touch me sexually, in terms of my breasts. Instead, his hands went to the strap on the right and simply unhooked it. Then he repeated the process on the left. His touch was deft and gentle, almost featherlike on my skin. In fact, my rather obvious shiver was because he tickled me. He chuckled and disappeared behind me. I glanced down. The bra had sagged just a little, but the cups remained in place.
Behind me his hands went to each strap in turn and again I felt a feathery touch, before he stepped back in front of me and showed me the two detachable straps he was holding.
“There you go, you’ll be fine now.”
I felt like such an idiot for not thinking about that myself.
The dress looked fine. I’d lost a bit of weight after the double funeral, but put that back on—and a little more besides—between then and getting this job. Since then, the sheer nervous energy had burnt off that fat. I might have been a couple of pounds heavier than I had been that day in the shop, but if I was, it was all in the boob department. After all, I had only been seventeen back then.
The sweetheart neckline showed off more than just a little cleavage. My shoulders were bare. At least, below the waist, the dress came down to about five inches above my knees. I’d checked the night before—even sitting down it didn’t show my stocking tops.
Mr. Bryant was obviously pleased with it. He leaned back against the front of his desk and made that twiddling motion with his fingers again for me to turn around. I did, showing him the way the dress clung to my butt, emphasizing how tight and pert it was, before flaring out below to make the skirt ap
pear flighty. It wasn’t—the hem was actually weighted, but the dress gave the illusion. Above the waist it came down to just above the bra, covering it modestly, but leaving most of the skin above bare. He’d been right—the bra strap would have showed, and showed badly. But I didn’t understand why that mattered—he was the only one who’d see—and he was going to either watch me take it off, or take it off me himself, along with the rest of my clothes.
“Turn back to face me again.”
As I did so, I caught sight of what he’d been doing while I had my back to him. I hadn’t heard him draw his zip down, but down it was, his cock out and nearly erect. He was fisting it casually with his left hand as he smiled at my consternation.
I gulped hard and lifted my gaze from the obscene sight to his face. Seeing he had my attention, he beckoned me to take a step toward him, then, holding up a hand to stop me in the middle of the room, he closed the distance between us.
“On your knees, but make sure you don’t kneel on your dress. Wouldn’t want you to rip it, would we?”
I was confused. Going to my knees almost certainly meant one thing, but I still had my dress on. I really didn’t understand. He stopped directly in front of me, the top part of his cock protruding from his fist and nudging against my lips.
“Open up, baby. Time for your protein shake.”
I didn’t think he’d do this again, not after me being so wretchedly sick last week, but obviously he intended to do just that. My stomach gave an anticipatory lurch, but after a couple of seconds I opened my mouth. He just rested his cock against my bottom lip, didn’t try to push it inside.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, baby. You’re going to have to do better today. You’re going to give me a proper blow job. I suggest you seal your lips around the head of my cock, and make sure you don’t drool. Otherwise you’ll get a wet mark on your dress. At the same time, when I cum in your mouth, you’d better swallow it. If you spit it up, you’ll stain your dress.”
