‘Go that way. First door to the right. Gayle Truman.’
I left in a hurry to break away from the smell of body odour that encased her personal workspace. Running full out would put me in a weird situation. Instead, there was clipped walking like I had a stick up my ass.
I certainly knew Patricia was checking me out as I walked down the hallway and outside of the closed door. A gold plaque with flowers outlining her name waited for me. Fancy.
Knocking once as was polite, then stepping back so I didn’t get hit in the face seemed my best bet. I stepped back casually, whistling and wishing I had worn more aftershave. I smelled like mocha. Women like chocolate though, right?
The door folded back and she was suddenly there, leaning against the jamb. A Nicole Kidman if she shopped at Gap and put up her corkscrew curls with a pen. Although, the scarlet pinstripe skirt was a bit much against the white, wide collared blouse. She didn’t have glasses to top off the secretary chic and I almost wanted to pout. Instead, I offered her my hand after wiping it across my coat.
She nodded as she pumped my hand once, a quick, pert squeeze. She followed it up with a smile and I realised she had braces along her bottom and top teeth. It was oddly cute.
‘Come in my office and we’ll discuss the job description. You have a resumé, I assume?’
‘I’m a little over-qualified actually.’
‘Never judge a man by his clothes, Mr ...?’
‘Anderson. Charlie.’ I cleared my throat loudly and stepped across her into the office, her breasts just barely registered through the fabric of my coat as I passed her.
‘Well, Charlie, let’s get started here.’
We both sat down in our respective seats. Mine, a squelchy leather high-back and her’s a swivel. She spun around to face the computer nestled into the shelved oak desk and opened a document to start typing my file. I passed my silver bordered resumé across the desk. She gave it a quick skim.
‘You’re hired. You start work tonight. Go downstairs and put on your uniform and meet me in the janitor’s closet.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’ I gave her a mock salute.
‘That’s what I want to hear.’
A shiver caressed the back of my neck. It felt like I was being watched. Putting my hands in my pockets I headed downstairs to the janitor’s closet. Despite the shadows, the grimy, soiled floors, the yellow bulbs dimming as I shook the stairs descending, I wasn’t one to disobey orders. I located the small room off to the left of a bunch of storage shelves packed with various chemicals. I went into the room closing the door behind me.
The tie slipping from my neck felt like my last safety line. Hanging it by the paint cans made me anxious. My breathing grew quicker, anticipation of getting the humiliation over with consuming my thoughts. It was bad enough I’d have to take a job cleaning up after other people’s crap, but they would make me wear the uniform too.
As my slacks slipped to my ankles, my back exposed to air conditioning vents going overtime, the door knob rattled behind me. An arm snaked around my chest, catching me off guard and pulling me backwards before I could look back. I couldn’t fight against the fabric around my ankles, hindering any escape in blundering backwards motion. A soft palm cupped my eyes. I was naked. My heart stuttered inside my chest with panic. A stirring of my cock in answer to the intense heat of the palm pressed to my chest.
‘This is a test. You will do everything I ask of you. If you don’t, you’ll be out of a job. When you answer I will be Mistress, do you understand me?’
It was a mental fight to force myself to even struggle. The British lilt to her voice soothing the anger that instinctively arose from the orders given to me. I wanted her. I wanted the job. I wanted it all. Lips caressing my ear, a gentle nibble, her wet breath clinging to my neck.
‘Yes, yes. Please. Mistress.’ My voice is choked with need.
If this is her game, I will play.
She crushes me to my knees. The concrete is icy, aching against my bruised knees from her push downward. One hand is still over my eyes as she crouches, reaching over to grab something from the shelf. Coarse fabric from her suit plays across my chest. I feel the hint of her chest against my back. The sudden contact leaves my skin buzzing for heavier sensation. The weight of her breasts behind me. There are no more lights.
I felt my tie tickle around my neck, shifting, tightening around my throat, a clinging crush of windpipe. She had me on a leash, pulling the silk slack tight. Forcing back my head, creating a delicate arch in my back. My breaths turn to panting. Sweat forms beads along the ridges of my stomach. I was sure she could feel it as she played along the lines of my abs with her fingernails. Each little mark made a hissing sound escape my twisted mouth. Fingers trailed over my right thigh like a piano and hit my pulsing, dancing cock smoothing her palm down the shaft and towards the head. It brought an eager noise to my throat despite my discomfort.
The touch grew quicker, rougher, making my knees weak. A shooting pleasure deluding my synapses to bow my spine further. A release in my unforgiving noose as I feel her coarse hair briefly graze my shoulders. Her other hand cupped my balls and rolled them casually, a spark to the smooth, aggravating sensation trailing up my shaft. She was moving velvet over my skin and I only had to cry out for more. My lips opened, a slight whimper of almost pain-like proportions because the pleasure was so great. Then she stopped altogether.
She dragged me breathless into the corner on my hands and knees using my tie. Over by the metal shelving units lined with products she had me poised near rows of paint cans. I was tied to a rack, displayed along the cold steel by my neck. A tension along my muscles from inaction. A soothing buzz in my ears from the darkness that surrounded me and the energy of her presence to my right.
‘You will answer everything truthfully and to the best of your ability.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ It rolled off my tongue without pause, a smile leaking on to my lips.
I could hear her sit. A folding chair with the bang of metal. The rustle and click of thigh-highs and garters. Music to my ears. A sigh, the smell of her musk, lilac shampoo in her hair. A cloying taste of metal rolling along my tongue. Drips of water echoing across the damaged space.
‘Why did I give you this job?’ she hissed.
‘Because I am overqualified, Mistress.’
‘Wrong. Why did I give you this job?’
The anger growling out from her voice box made me cower with displeasure as I shifted from foot to foot. My restraint grew sharper, compressed into my Adam’s apple.
‘My good looks, Mistress?’ I made it a question, pressure building in my head. A sharp click-clack of her heels echoing along the dripping concrete. My pulse skittered, mouth like wads of cotton. A fingernail rippling along my collarbone from end to end, like the cut of a knife, then the thick pinch of claws at my neck.
‘You will not be so cocky.’
‘No, Mistress, I will not.’ My teeth set harshly in my jaw, keeping away a whimper.
‘You are nothing.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ The blow to my ego ached through my stomach and yet, my spine tingled with the loss of control. My cock stirred against the coldness of my aching thigh as the muscle became taut and cramped with misuse.
She was pacing, the sound of a crab’s scuttle across the supply closet. The angle of the knotted tie had begun to arch my back in a cruel and unusual way which excelled my heart beat. I licked my chapped lips and wondered how long this interview would be before I could pile-drive my aching cock into a wet hole. Maybe if I played my cards right she would lay her lips along my head and suck me into a promotion.
‘I hired you because you are nothing. Nothing to anyone or anything. You reek of emotional damage. The kind of filth that needs to be cleaning trash. I know your history with the company that brought you so low as to accept a paycheck from me. Soon you will learn that you’re not even worthy for that. I will make you work for everything you earn, do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
She stood up. I heard metal screeching across the ground, dragging a moan from my mouth because of the ringing in my ears. My neck found some release as she untied me, leading me to what I assumed was the middle of the room. When she yanked my arms behind my back and removed my silken trophy I knew I liked pain. Adrenaline spiked inside my skull as she wrenched my wrists tying them together behind my back. Something good was coming. If it led to me getting money and sex, I was having a good day.
The stockings brushing across my cock were static and smooth as she bent me over her lap. I swallowed as her palm worked over my virgin ass. I expected to be violated but as her hand sent shock waves up my spine the sound of her fingers thwacking through the air made me cringe. Each singeing tap across my ass was unexpected no matter that she was going in a steady rhythm, warming me up for heavier things to come.
‘That’s a good boy, dance for me across my lap. Show me that you like it and I’ll think about a bonus for Christmas.’ Her voice was throaty with suppressed orgasm.
She was moaning at the whimpers that were escaping my mouth. I had a vague sense that my movements along her steady thighs must have been creating a delightful friction and tightness against her pussy from the seam of the nylons. Despite the beating which had become lingering fireworks, I concentrated on pleasing her by thrashing in more elaborate ways, thrusting my cock against the fabric hoping for release. As her steady palms became a soothing warmth my muscles began to ache from the positioning, legs searching for purchase as my calve muscles bunched.
‘Please,’ my mouth rasped with the pulse of my cock.
‘What?’ she growled, hand skimming over the welts she had created on my ass.
I remained silent, knowing my previous begging wouldn’t be tolerated. This was about her pleasure and while I had hoped the begging would make her hotter, I also had my own needs in mind. She giggled at my silence, an eerie sound flipping and twisting against the acoustic driven cinder block.
I scrambled as she pushed me off her lap to the cold ground. I hit the concrete glacier floor on the smarting bits of my left ass cheek with a hiss of air through my teeth. The contrast was both soothing and a reminder that I wanted special attention back, regardless of how much it had stung. I hadn’t had a woman pay that much attention to me in months, not when money was everything. If she was getting off on using me, which clearly she was, then this was an arrangement I could live with for a while.
Then she began lifting her skirt. That scarlet pinstripe receding up her thighs exposing every inch of her pale flesh. There were no panties. I took in a breath. My first glimpse of female sensuality in several months made a tingle start to ache in my lower back and move towards my stiff cock. A tap in the balls may be an awakening to my general loserdom but it wouldn’t stop my arousal from making itself known. Sweat coated every inch of my body from toe to cheek.
I remembered the reasons why I had pointedly avoided the fairer sex as her finger gently lingered and caressed her engorged clitoris inches from my face. A slow circle below the swatch of scarlet skirt, then a pointed moan, over and over right in front of my nose. A standing statue of lust.
I didn’t deserve it. I wanted it. I didn’t deserve it. I wouldn’t get it. That was how it was now. That is who I am. I was nothing to her as I was nobody to anyone else. She lingered over her labia, dipping her finger into the juices now dripping perfectly to the dirty floor of the janitor’s closet. She fucked herself with grace, lingering long enough inside herself to make the arm holding her skirt aloft twist with the effort. Her knees quaked, shoes tapping against the floor in disjointed rhythm and I smelled her ripeness.
I wanted my tongue lodged up in her folds. I wanted to drink her inside me so I would be worthy again, to make her come until tomorrow morning, thrashing, screaming my name ripping my fingers in and out of her until she flooded like rapids. She could be my validation. When every bit of me was smeared with her come, sweat matting her curly-cues straight again, the pencil in her hair broken to the wayside, I would know I was someone.
She tempted me like liquid lava lapping at my feet, orgasmic, over and over, so close I could touch her, my hips bucking at the chance. I knew then I would pass her test as her creamy skin gyrated closer to my hungry, promise-holding lips. Her eyes were closed, unseeing to the man she deemed unworthy as her feet took one solid step towards my waiting erection and my mind begged for the chance to please her and start over.
A finger pulsating around her clit and her inner lips were thrust into my face. I was home free. Everything in me yearned to please as my tongue and teeth made swift work of her warm, real cunt meeting my face with swift gyrations of her hips. She yanked on the tie creating a tension in my neck that elevated the depth of my tongue in her cunt. She ground down on my face. My skin hummed with life. She was absolutely gorgeous as I watched her face contort from the slickness on my face. I grinned within her pussy at the freedom lacing through her cries of pleasure. Such a straight-laced office slut. My new mistress.
A pinch at my balls, a tightening of my nipples and my eyes were going crooked with white heat from jizzing onto the floor. My head lay nestled in the sweetest pussy I had received in months. I kept working my jaw along the dips of her cunt, prolonging her pleasure now that mine was sated. She was all that mattered. Besides, I knew I’d have to clean it up in the morning.
Two’s Company, Three’s Allowed
by J. Manx
It’s 3 a.m. on a warm, August morning and here I am, lying on a beach, face down on a blanket, my bottom still raised, expectantly. I’m relaxed and contented, listening to the sighs of the sea as it rushes over the beach, thinning into a white spume before receding, leaving the shingle crackling and hissing. A warm breeze licks at my neck and armpits and I can feel its wispy fingers between my legs. A tear of semen is running slowly down the inside of my thigh, a parting gift from a lover. I can hear Mike behind me, frantically undoing his trousers.
‘Was it good?’ He was trying to contain the excitement in his voice.
‘Wonderful, absolutely wonderful,’ I said.
‘Beautiful,’ said Joe.
Mike had been watching us and I knew he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. I didn’t want him to. I wanted to be fucked again and this time I wanted Joe to watch.
It’s been a hell of a year. Started off with a boyfriend and ended up with two.
I met Mike at a friend’s wedding and was instantly attracted by his good looks and ready humour. He was quick witted and good fun to be with. We fucked that first night, in the hotel gardens. We were so hot for each other. He simply took out his cock, hitched up my dress, pulled aside my panties and fucked me up against a tree. I looked over his shoulder at all the other wedding guests dancing and mingling in the hotel ballroom. We were just out of range of the light that was cast onto the lawn from the hotel, but only just. I’m sure that, with a bit of concentration, any guest looking out of a window could have had a decent view of Mike’s bottom thrusting away. It was the first time I’d been fucked in the open and, utterly turned on, I cried out with abandonment. Any noise I made was drowned out by the music of the wedding band.
Outdoor sex became an exciting part of our relationship. I love it. There’s nothing like fucking out in the open. A different backdrop each time; the fresh air, sunshine, rain, the feel of grass, bark, hay, earth, sand, all add to the excitement. The risk of being seen or, as on one occasion, being watched by a furtive voyeur, intensifies the experience. There are so many variations you could play on this theme that the idea of including another participant never really occurred to me. Not, that is, until Joe appeared on the scene.
&
nbsp; Joe is an old friend of Mike’s. They’ve known each other since their schooldays. I’d never met Joe but Mike had talked about him on several occasions and I got the impression he was a little in awe of his friend. Anyway, Mike got a call from Joe who told him he was coming back from America for a few weeks. He wanted to see his parents and collect some of his belongings before he moved back there, permanently.
Since the news of his imminent return most of Mike’s conversation had revolved around Joe and, to be honest, I started to find it a little irritating.
‘You’ll love him,’ said Mike, after another monologue about his friend’s attributes, ‘he’s a good friend, got me out of some scrapes when we were younger.’
‘I’m surprised you never slept with him,’ I said, rather sarcastically one evening, after Mike had recounted another anecdote. He looked at me, the sarcasm completely going over his head, and then said, ‘Well, I did, sort of, I suppose,’ and then chuckled, a secretive, exclusive chuckle, which further irritated me.
I tried not to let it show. ‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’
‘Oh it doesn’t matter, the vagaries of youth, it was quite a while back.’ Mike shook his head and chuckled again.
‘Mike,’ I said, trying to hide my irritation with a playful tone, ‘come on, you can’t just laugh and stay silent, what did you mean?’
‘Well, we got drunk one night a couple of years back and Joe attracted a couple of girls. They came back to the flat with us, they were both vying for Joe’s attention but it ended up one with Joe and one with me – it was a hell of a night.’
I felt murderous now. Mike had been playing me all along so that he could brag about a past adventure and I’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker. I thought of retaliating with stories of some of my past conquests. He’d be a little shocked if he knew. I resisted the temptation.
I felt I already knew Joe quite well and I didn’t like him. He sounded arrogant, full of himself, an immature Jack-the-Lad. When Joe arrived back in England, Mike went out for a drink with him. He spent the following day shaking his head with admiration, recounting their conversations. This Joe character really was beginning to get on my nerves.
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