The Last To Know - What I Did While We Dated

by Bridy McAvoy

  He said nothing more, just spread his legs apart, which I took as an invitation to crawl between them. Within a few more seconds I was crouched under his desk, with my face within inches of his crotch.

  “You know what to do, Sammie. You know what to do.”

  I guess I did. After all, I’d done it a large number of times before, but this was the first time I’d been crouched under his desk. It wasn’t even like I was hidden. My feet had to be visible from the other side of the desk, not that there was anybody to see.

  I undid his fly and fished out his already half-hard cock. Often, when he wanted a goodnight blow job, he’d already be hard, but not today. I lifted myself up to position my head and cracked my back against the bottom of his desk. “Ow!”

  “Silly girl. You should think about where you are.”

  Despite the pain, he obviously expected me to continue. This time when I moved I was more careful, and slowly took the end of his cock into my mouth and sucked on it. Of course, it responded, growing in my mouth, and within a couple of minutes it was fully hard.

  Now I could go to town on him more, sliding him further into my mouth, alternating that with licking both the shaft and the tip. He made no move to push his trousers down, so I couldn’t throat him in this position, unless I wanted my face cut to shreds on his zip.

  “Good girl, that’s better.”

  He actually patted me on the top of my head as I took him back into my mouth. That was humiliating, and then I guess I had a little epiphany again. This wasn’t just about him getting his rocks off, this was about him deliberately humiliating me. I guess the fact I’d got my own rocks off with another man made him jealous, despite the fact it had been him pushing me to date and go out with—as he classified them—Bulls, and let them fuck me. Brad had been no threat—he’d been disappointing. Kirk, on the other hand, was some kind of threat to his dominance over me.

  I suppose I should have bailed out of my little cubbyhole, slapped him and walked out. I guess I even thought about that for a second, but I didn’t do it. I stayed where I was and sucked harder.

  It was nice, almost comforting, to have his cock in my mouth—familiar even—and a couple of minutes later he came and I swallowed it all.

  His next action surprised me. I had heard him moving things around on his desk as if he was working while I sucked him, and he zipped up as I finished sucking him clean. Then, scooting his chair back, he rose to his feet.

  “Lock up as you leave, Samantha. See you tomorrow.”

  I just squatted there, in the kneehole of his desk, as he walked out. I heard him pick up his coat from the coat-rack, and a few seconds later heard him unlock the library door and leave. I was in shock. His behavior was so abrupt, so rude. He, usually at least, said thank you, especially if he didn’t have time to get me off too.

  I actually cried, tears running down my face, as I slowly pulled myself out of the cramped space and rose to my feet. It took me several minutes to clean up and make sure I wasn’t going to be leaving the library puffy-eyed. I know now that he was humiliating me for a reason, but I didn’t know that night what he was doing.

  * * * *

  Tuesday morning he was as nice as ever, as if the whole humiliating episode hadn’t happened. He even made me coffee twice during the morning. Once the lunchtime rush had finished and the library was almost empty, he asked me into his office to show him something on the computer. Remember, we’d only just installed a new system and he was struggling to come to grips with parts of it. As it was my baby, I wasn’t having the same problems. It wasn’t unusual for me to walk around to his side of the desk and lean over to show him something on the screen.

  What was unusual was this time he touched me. I suddenly felt his hand on the back of my leg, just about knee height, close to the hem of my skirt. His hand touched my stocking-clad leg and slid up, underneath the hem of the skirt onto the back of my thigh. The hand kept going.

  There were people in the library—we weren’t alone! Okay, we were in his office, with the door pushed partway closed, and the desk hid what he was doing. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I just kind of stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the screen as his hand moved swiftly up the back of my leg onto the bare flesh above the stocking. My skirt was tight, so I could feel his arm sliding the hem up too. After a couple of seconds I turned my head to look at him, to say something. The look on his face stopped me. He was smirking, a look that said, ‘I’ve been there, I’ve had you, and I’m going to have you again’.

  I don’t like that look. You saw it on Max’s face earlier, and I know you didn’t like it. It was the first time Mr. Bryant had smirked at me like that. The smirk that shouted out, property, and you’re mine, any time, any place.

  I hated it! I wanted to slap him for the second time in twenty-four hours, and resign on the spot. My brain said sue his ass off for harassment. My pussy said something different—spread your legs, bitch, let him touch you. So I did. I allowed my legs to part, and he slid his hand all the way up my leg. While he was doing this I kept talking, pointing out things to him on the screen, telling him where to click.

  My voice faltered a little when his fingers found my panties, and he didn’t hesitate as he started to push the thin fabric up into me. Of course, by now he knew my body well, so he recognized the signs as my legs started to tremble as he pushed me close to the edge of an orgasm. Since I tended to scream when I came, he backed off, but left my panties tangled in my lips—partly in place, partly pushed up into me. In any case, they were soaked with my juices.

  “Thank you, Samantha. That was most informative.”

  How he kept a straight face I’ll never know. On the way out of his office I looked back over my shoulder. “Could you cover the front desk for me for a moment? I need to go…” I gestured toward the washroom and he nodded. I didn’t need to go, but I needed to straighten myself up. I think he knew that because he laughed softly as he walked into the library proper. How he managed to do that while displaying a huge hard-on I’ll never know—I guess, somehow, he wasn’t hard.

  An hour or so later he asked me for help again. I thought he was going to ask me into his office but he didn’t. This time he came out to the central desk and stood over me while I explained something on the computer. He reached down and pinched my nipple but let go as the front door opened. He walked off back to his office, chuckling. Just before closing I was back in his office with his hand up the back of my leg again, this time fondling and pinching my butt.

  By the time closing time rolled around I was sure he’d be telling me to come back into his office and blow him again, but he surprised me. He came out of his office, walked past my work-station and locked the door himself, then drew the blinds. Without saying a word, he beckoned me to join him near the front door and I walked across to him.

  As soon as I got close to him, he moved, cat-like and quick—very quick for an old guy. I hadn’t seen him move that quickly before. Before I knew it, he had me with my back pinned against the wall, only a few feet inside the door. He used one hand to hold my arms above my head, then used his other hand to undo the buttons on my blouse. At least this time he was undoing them. Once the blouse was undone and pushed to the sides, my bra came in for rougher treatment. He pulled hard and I groaned but couldn’t move. The bra didn’t give so he pulled harder and the clip broke at the back. I found out later he’d actually straightened out the hook part—he’d pulled that hard.

  My skirt was next, roughly pushed up my legs as he used his body weight to hold me in place. He’d let go of my wrists, but I’d guessed what he wanted and kept my hands there. My panties were shredded in seconds, and he pushed me back against the wall even as he pushed his cock into me. I have no idea when he fished his erection out of his trousers. One moment he was covered, the next he was in me.

  I was wet too. His deliberate attentions to me all afternoon had kept me worked up. I didn’t care about his relatively rough handling, I just needed a cock. I
f he hadn’t fucked me, I’d have gone home and used the vibrator I’d bought myself for Christmas. Instead, I got what I wanted, while he took what he wanted. I guess I came, squealing and moaning, on about his third stroke. I lowered my arms around his neck, hugging him tight as he thrust harder into me.

  After another few thrusts he pulled out, spun me around and pushed me against the wall. I had to put my arms against the wall and press with my hands to prevent him pushing me into the wall. Without a word—he still hadn’t spoken to me—he thrust into me from behind. Once more I came quickly, but so did he.

  He stepped back, zipping up, and I stood there panting. I expected him to say something but he just nodded his head and walked to the door. With a shriek I realized he intended to leave, opening the door with me in total disarray, and everything on show to anyone walking past. I dived behind the partition behind my desk as he opened the door.

  “Goodnight, Samantha. See you tomorrow.”

  Then I heard the door close and the lock click. He’d left me there to clean up, having said nothing at all throughout the quick fuck against the wall.

  Wednesday morning he was polite as ever, but he didn’t touch me all day. At closing time he called me into his office, made me lie on his desk, ass in the air. I thought he was going to spank me, but he simply walked around in front of me, unzipped and had me blow him while he leaned over me and fingered me until I came too. Another pair of panties ended up in the trash. He didn’t bother pulling them out of the way—he ripped them down one side to allow his fingers access.

  I’d worked out what he was doing—he was deliberately humiliating me—turning the sex sordid and dirty. After all, I was getting all the romantic sex I needed from Kirk.

  Of course, that wasn’t true as the text from Kirk that night showed. I was devastated, and I guess that showed on my face on Thursday. He didn’t say anything but I did catch him looking at me a few times. We turned out to be exceptionally busy that day, so I didn’t get much time to brood, let alone cry. I’d done more than enough of that the night before.

  After closing, he appeared next to my work-station and motioned for me to join him in his office. There was a mug of coffee sitting there waiting for me—I hadn’t noticed him make them. Once I’d sat down he walked around behind his desk and picked up his own coffee.

  “Can I make a guess, Samantha? He dumped you.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed, but made sure I stayed controlled.

  “Care to tell me why?”

  I shrugged. “He worked on the new office block down the street. Their contract has finished, and his next job is in New Jersey.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That building isn’t finished.”

  “I know, but the glazing is.” I’d made sure. I’d driven down that way this morning. The site was busy, but I could see the outside of the building was finished. Actually, the look impressed me, and I added the colored glazing effect to my mental model for the new library I was starting to build in my head. In the end, the Board had agreed with me, but that was years in the future. However, I had started planning—well, dreaming.

  “Sorry.”

  I shrugged. “Shit happens.”

  “You okay?”

  “I only met him here when he asked me out, and once when he took me to dinner.”

  “And then fucked you to ecstasy—you, five times in one night.”

  “Something like that.”

  “So now you’re on the dating market again?”

  I sighed. That prospect didn’t please me too much. “I suppose so.”

  “Cheer up, Sammie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’d still be exactly where you are now if you’d never met this Kirk.”

  I had to smile, realizing he was right. Sure, the guy had given me one night of great sex, but nothing else—certainly no commitment. I’d just never really thought of myself as a one-night stand kind of girl.

  “I bet you tomorrow someone’ll ask you for a date.”

  “Oh? What stakes?”

  He shrugged. “If I win, you have to wear a mini-skirt, commando, every day next week.”

  “No! N-O spells No.”

  He laughed and I could feel the tension draining away. I wanted to ask him why he’d changed the way he’d been treating me, but I didn’t. Instead I sipped my coffee as he sipped his, in what would look to any outsider as companionable silence.

  I took the empty mugs back to the kitchenette and then returned to his office. I’d been sure the little interlude was over, and that something sexual was about to happen. I was right. He’d moved from behind his desk, and now sat on the visitor’s chair that I’d occupied, one with no arms. I raised an eyebrow and he smiled, beckoning me toward him.

  “I want you to dance for me, Sammie.”

  “Dance?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “You mean…like a striptease?”

  He grinned at me. “We’ll start with that, and you can finish with a lap-dance.”

  My cheeks must have flamed red because he was laughing so hard he almost choked.

  “I haven’t got any music.”

  He pointed to the computer screen where he’d dialed up iTunes. That surprised me, because I’d never thought he knew how. I wondered then, as I do now, whether his supposed hatred of computers, was exactly that—if he’d been faking it.

  “Pick your own tune from the selection available.”

  I frowned at him, deciding this was another of his ways of trying to humiliate me—choosing my own music and then performing to it. I had no doubt that I’d end up on his lap, naked, with his cock driving up into my pussy as I came. It was simply that I didn’t like his way of me getting there.

  A quick glance down the list showed me a very eclectic mix of tracks. He had classic stuff on there—some well-known, some I’d never heard of. There were also some soft slow ballads, and some hard rock tracks. One track though stood out, both for its rock beat—hard and fast—and also for its suggestive lyrics. When I’d been in high school—about fourteen, I guess—one of my friends had got into classic rock radio, and we’d spent hours in her bedroom prancing around to the tracks she found. We’d been trying to learn how to be sexy. It had worked for Simone, less so for me. Now, six years later, the track by the Body Rockers jumped out at me from the list.

  I flicked the track to play, then hit the pause button and put it on repeat. At only three and a half minutes, it was too short for what he wanted, so I’d have to repeat it. He had only heard one opening note, not even a full chord, so had no idea of what track I’d selected.

  I turned back to him. “Can I have a moment to plan my moves?”

  He shook his head and pointed to the space in front of him, impatient to get me dancing. I sighed, hit the play symbol with the mouse pointer, and walked across as the track started to fill the room. By the time I reached the indicated spot, I’d let my hips start to twitch to the fast percussion intro. Mr. Bryant smiled and folded his arms, looking at me intently as I lifted my hands above my head and started to rock from side to side.

  Simone and I had practiced endless jerking movements with our hips, trying to assess which move was the sexiest, but at the innocent age of fourteen, neither of us had thought about how sexy we’d look taking our clothes off to this track. Now, as the singer began to talk in that breathy verbal intro, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

  … things I like about you…

  The music started to swell and I jerked my hips forward, trying to remember which line came next. Dropping my hands to my hips, I strutted forward, bending at the waist, then straightened up, my feet moving to the beat.

  … you put your hands in the air…

  As the singer breathed that line my hands were back above my head, my arms entwined around each other as I thrust my chest out. I could see my boss nodding as he enjoyed my performance, and knew he was getting a kick out of it. To be honest, so was I, which initially surprised me—the ide
a of dancing like this was so far out of my comfort zone. I was getting turned on.

  By the time he hit the title line at the end of that first chorus, my hips were jerking around, my ass bobbing up and down. I was even singing along with him.

  … you move…

  Mr. Bryant clapped his hands together. I’m not sure if he’d recognized the track or not, but he clearly did now. Then he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled it away from his body for a second. His meaning was obvious. Don’t just dance—strip.

  I pouted a little. I knew he enjoyed thinking he’d bested me, but at that moment—only a minute and a bit into the first play of the track—I really wanted to strip, to display myself to him, to crawl naked onto his lap and fuck him. I was hot, burning hot, and my pussy was wet too. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what my nipples were like.

  My hands went to the button band of my white blouse and, one by one, I flicked the buttons open. I closed my eyes, letting my imagination run free. I wasn’t doing this for Mr. Bryant anymore—I was on a stage in some club, letting lots of men watch me. I think I had a mini-orgasm at that point. Anyway, my legs went weak and my dancing faltered a little. Opening my eyes, I finished off my blouse, watching him watching me. It was so erotic—and I’d only unbuttoned my blouse, let alone removed any clothing as yet!

  Mr. Bryant was nodding along to the music by now, but his eyes never left me. I’d been surprised to find so many rock tracks on there—I’d never heard him play music in his office. Now, though, as my hands went behind me and I slipped the zip of the tight skirt down, I began to see the power balance in the room had shifted. I wasn’t sure he’d realized it, but it had. Every Thursday afternoon I’d effectively been at his mercy—a sexual plaything for him. Oh, he’d made sure I was satisfied, and I’d been learning from him too. He’d definitely brought me out of my shell, and I wasn’t ungrateful, which is why I’d let him continue. Now, though, dancing was a power transfer. I had the power. I could tease him as long as I liked—within reason, of course. My performance would be as long as I wanted it to be—not at his beck and call. The end result would be the same—me naked, on his lap, being fucked, but precisely when it went that far was all up to me.