by Bridy McAvoy
* * * *
“Honey?”
“Yes?”
“Can we stop there, I’d like to go back.”
“Why?”
“Let me tell you the rest of this later, not now, please?”
She was troubled, I could see that. Her eyes were wide and they looked wet. I held out my hand and helped her lift herself up and then back over the windshield. We stood there for a moment, just holding hands with each other, then I pulled her into a hug. She clung on tightly for a few seconds and then whispered a quiet Thanks.
I glanced at my watch, surprised to see it was already three o’clock, so we headed back for the condo, with Sam driving the boat. I thought about keeping my arm around her shoulders all the way back, then decided not to—too many connotations, I suspect, with that particular gesture, especially in this boat.
We moored, and she dashed inside, heading for the bathroom. I think I heard the sound of her throwing up, but I wasn’t sure as I’d sat outside. I went and tapped on the door but she just told me to go away, so I sat on the decking and watched the sun over the lake. The view was fabulous, I’d never tire of it.
About fifteen minutes later she reappeared. “Sorry.”
“You okay?”
“I am now. I guess too much sun, or too little food and too much soda.”
“Ah. If you’re sure.”
“I’m fine. Don’t fuss, honey. Now, how about dinner? I’m hungry now.”
“If you’re up to it. If not, I’ll order pizza.”
“No, you will not! I’m cooking tonight.”
“Okay, okay, just trying to help.”
She frowned at me and shook her head, then let the frown dissolve into a smile. She ruffled my hair and wandered back inside. She was still wearing the tight black bikini, and looked fabulous in it. I forced my cock to relax by turning back to watch the lake again. There wasn’t enough room in the tiny kitchenette for me to help. It wasn’t much bigger than the shower stall. I knew she was in that possessive mood she sometimes got about the kitchen. The stay out of my kitchen mood. I always did when she was like that.
We ate somewhere around five. She was well recovered by then and, if anything, ate more than me. Again, I washed mine down with a beer but she declined a Bud, patting her stomach and pleading her cause. I helped her clear away and insisted she went and sat outside while I washed up.
Once done, we sat on the grass in front of the condo in companionable silence for about half-an-hour then I rose to my feet and walked back inside to take a leak. When I came out of the bathroom she was sitting on the couch still wearing the bikini.
“Let’s get this over with, honey.”
“Okay, I guess—it’s your story.”
“This will be one of the hardest bits for me to tell you.”
“Why?”
“You damned well know why. That next weekend was the weekend I met you. I was fucked by Mr. Bryant on the Thursday, and met you on the Friday. That night I dumped Malcolm by phone, had a chaste date at the movies with you on the Saturday, and then screwed Max on the Sunday. How’s that for a messed-up weekend?”
She took me aback with her vehemence, the first time she’d got angry about what had happened. Up to now it had been sadness, worry and even despair. This was a different Sam talking to me now—one with a fire in her belly, and in her eyes.
I crossed my arms. Just as it was going to be difficult for her, it was going to be equally difficult for me to hear it.
Chapter Six – On the Water
Monday morning I waited for the mid-morning lull and then knocked on Mr. Bryant’s office door.
“Have you got a minute, please, Mr. Bryant?”
He looked up from his computer screen. “Sure, what’s up?”
I’d gone out of my way to dress as demurely as possible that day. My underwear was white, my stockings nude. My blouse, though, showed a hint of the bra through it. The skirt was knee-length but did, however, have buttons all the way up the front. If I undid half a dozen of those, it could become very un-demure very quickly.
I quickly explained how I’d come into possession of a boat, and I wondered what I should do with it. I explained about how Max had explained the situation, and that I probably owed him north of a couple of grand for fees since my father died. He asked the make, model and age, and I gave him the details Max Junior had given me, and then I told him how I thought Max had low-balled me on the price.
He told me to leave it with him and, in any case, I had a patron waiting at my desk by the time I got out of his office.
A little time later, as I went down the corridor to the washroom, I heard him say something on the phone. It sounded like Hold dinner, I’ll be a little late—I’ve got to sort a problem out for Samantha… I guessed he was talking to Sarah who was living at home. Since I hadn’t dumped Malcolm at that point—that would happen later in the week—she hadn’t started going out with him. I knew then he wasn’t just going to give me advice—something else would happen too, something sexual. By the time closing time came around, I was starting to feel my pussy…well, tingling in anticipation. That anticipation had me starting to get wet.
Once I’d locked up, I went and knocked on his door again, and he beckoned me in.
“I’ve got some answers for you, Sammie, but first…” He indicated his crotch and I knew he wanted me to blow him—not that unusual an activity for a Monday evening. I started to walk toward him but, holding his hand up, he motioned for me to drop to my knees and crawl instead. I guess he wanted me to crawl under his desk, but I didn’t. I crawled around the end and he backed his chair away. I ended up in the knee hole of the desk anyway, but this time I backed in—I didn’t have to contort myself under his half-height modesty panel.
I reached for his fly but again he stopped me, undoing the button for himself, then waving the tab of the zip in front of my face. “With your teeth, please, baby.”
I guess my eyes flared wide because he chuckled, but, even so, he’d conditioned me to do as he wanted and I leaned forward, grasped the zip tab in my teeth and tried to pull down. It was crazy. I could pull the zip down an inch, then lost the tab as the angle changed. Then I had to grope for the tab with my mouth—he only helped me that first time—and repeat the process. If I thought crawling was humiliating, this was ten times worse. Eventually I got the zip all the way down, and then, to make things even worse, he got me to pull his boxers down with my teeth. When I got home, I had to floss to get the cotton fibers out of my teeth!
One thing, though, all the nuzzling and rooting around with my mouth had him hard, so I was able to lift myself over his cock and take him straight down my mouth into my throat. I kept my hands behind my back and I deep-throated him for a minute then started bobbing up and down on him. By now I knew what buttons to push, and it didn’t take long before he was groaning and moaning over my head. I lifted my eyes, locked gaze with him and sucked harder as he came. I felt him fill my mouth with his goo, then pulled my head back to let him enjoy watching me swallow. I sound such a whore, but it was what he wanted and enjoyed. I was conditioned to it by then. Once I’d swallowed, I licked him all over to clean him up and he tucked himself back in as he rolled the chair back on its casters, letting me get out of my cramped quarters in the knee hole. At least he didn’t make me crawl back around the desk. He told me to sit on the visitor’s chair.
Once there, he pushed a sheet of paper across his desk to me, a simple summary on which he had filled in the details. I’d been right. As long as the boat was in tip-top condition, Max was low-balling me. He was certain the boat was worth eight, if not more. It made a bit more sense now, financially, why my dad would have kept the boat. Having felt the way the throb of the engine had worked on my psyche as we motored along, I was sure my father would have used that to his advantage.
“So exactly how much do you owe Max for keeping the boat for the last year to fifteen months?”
“Not sure. Going to go over the pa
perwork with him next weekend.”
“Can you afford it? I can lend you—”
“Not a problem. I’ve got the cash squirrelled away.”
“Okay. So you can pay off Max and the boat is yours, free and clear. What do you want to do with it?”
“Not sure. Still learning how to use the damned thing—but I have to admit, I loved my trip in it.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I can understand that. Are you going to let Max continue to maintain it for you?”
“Not sure. Might just moor it up at the condo.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea, Samantha.”
I knew he was being serious when he used my full name outside of any formal work situation. He always called me Sammie or baby in private.
“Why?”
“Firstly, you’re no mechanic—those motors need some maintenance. Secondly, safety. What happens if the engine conks out in the middle of the lake? Thirdly, also safety, what happens if the boat gets holed against the dock? Finally, insurance. Having the boat stored out of the water in a proper yard makes insuring the boat a lot cheaper than keeping it at the dock. I bet that’s why your father thought it was a good idea to let Max keep it for him, despite the cost.”
“I hadn’t thought about insurance.”
“I got you a quote—about two hundred and fifty a year if you keep it at the yard. Treble that to keep it permanently moored at the condo.”
“Big difference.”
“Worth it to let Max keep it for you, although you’re going to have to trust him.”
“Even though he low-balled me.”
Mr. Bryant shrugged. “Confront him. Convince him you thought it was just a business thing, and you’re not some ‘wet behind the ears’ college girl who’s inherited her father’s money—that’ll pin his ears back—and insist on the same deal. Pay him up to date, give him a three month advance and he’ll eat out of your hand. Let him know if he low-balls you again on anything, or tries anything else, you’ll pull the contract and put the word out. His reputation means more to him than anything else. There’s only two yards on the lake and he needs the business.”
“Good advice. Thanks.”
He smiled at me and I saw him look me over. “Does that solve your problem?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good, now payment for service rendered.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “What about what I just did?”
He shrugged again. “That was just our normal Monday evening…”
He turned to his computer screen and clicked on his mouse a couple of times. A moment later, the opening bars of that same damned song started to echo through the tinny speakers on his desktop.
“You’re kidding.”
“No, service for a service. You know how it works.”
I rose from my seat and moved to the center of the room, knowing what was about to happen. This time I was already working out how to do what he wanted. I also wanted to make sure I got what I wanted more than once. Given he’d cum in the last fifteen minutes, it was going to take him time to get hard again, so he’d need a serious tease too.
Dancing—well, shaking my ass and body to the music just like the first time—I unbuttoned the blouse, then slowly shucked it off my shoulders. Tossing it onto the chair, I started really shaking my butt. I was facing him, and I smiled, blew him a kiss and walked forward. Once I reached the edge of his desk I turned my back—I guess he thought I was going to walk away from him again, but I had a different idea.
Boosting myself up, I was sitting on the desk, then I spun around to face him again, this time sitting down, with my knees steepled in front of him. They were open, showing him a tunnel up inside my skirt. Slowly I lowered my knees to the desk, closing off the tunnel, and spread my legs as far apart as the skirt would let me. It wasn’t tight, so that was a good distance—it was a good job his desk was so large! He was enjoying my performance, I could see him smiling. I was enjoying it too. My nipples had hardened inside my bra. I didn’t sit still, swaying from side to side to the music, and bouncing my ass up and down a little. I guess I was kind of twerking in a sitting position, but in any case it was starting very nice feelings deep in my core.
My fingers smoothed the skirt down between my legs and, reaching for it, I flicked open the bottom button. Straightening, I wagged a finger at him and then leaned forward and did the next button. The leaning forward displayed my cleavage and I could see he appreciated it. I kept repeating the same basic maneuver until I’d actually unbuttoned the entire skirt. Spreading the two sides out to the side, I spun around again then jumped down from the desk, leaving my skirt lying flat on the surface. He clapped his hands together and I looked back over my shoulder and gave him as lustful a pout as I could manage.
By now I was getting hot, in both senses of the word. My bra was next, and before long that hit the floor. I returned to the desk. I swept the skirt off to one side and then crawled up onto the desk, moving to the spot right in front of him, letting my breasts hang down. He reached out to grab them, but I wagged a finger at him and backed off before lying down on my stomach and reaching back. Hooking my fingers through the waistband of my panties, I inched them down over my butt before rolling over, pressing my now naked cheeks against the cold leather. The front still covered my mound and I was ready for my big finale.
I spun through a quarter circle so my feet were pointing toward him, then slowly raised my legs until they were pointing straight into the air, pressed together. Keeping them like that, I pushed my panties off and onto my now inverted thighs. Slowly I bent my legs at the knees, conscious I wasn’t dancing anymore, but it didn’t matter, not now. As my knees came down toward my chest I was able to push my panties down toward my knees, and then over them. Using my feet, I scissor-kicked them off over my right foot. Still moving slowly, I extended my left foot toward him, offering him the lace morsel hanging from my toes. He snatched them, but before he could grab my foot, it was back next to its pair and my legs were extending toward the ceiling once more. Once they were at full stretch, I started to separate them, slowly extending my legs out into a vee.
This, of course, exposed everything to his view, and while I lay there like that, I dropped my hand down to my now wet pussy and started to rub myself. I don’t remember ever actually masturbating in front of him before. I’m certain I’d never done so without him telling me. I’d never done it in front of anybody for that matter. My breath caught in my throat and I started to moan as I rubbed harder and faster. I dropped my feet to the desk, but kept my knees bent, my legs splayed. My free hand rose to my breast and I started to play with my nipple.
It wasn’t good enough for me, though. I wanted to see his face, to watch him watching me masturbate. Letting go of my breast, I used that arm to push myself up to my elbow, part sitting, part reclining, as I started to thrust my pelvis toward my hand. He was watching me intently, not saying anything, just letting me do my own thing.
I felt so powerful, so in control. I pushed one finger inside myself, reveling in how wet I was. Then a second finger, and then a third. My butt was almost leaving the surface of the desk as I diddled myself. I was moving around, thrashing around so much I was in grave danger of losing my balance. His hands came out and grabbed my ankles, forcing my legs further apart. I groaned and then shuddered as my pussy started to spasm around my fingers.
It must have been one amazingly erotic sight as I came, and came. I didn’t want it to stop, couldn’t stop myself as the orgasm rolled through me. Suddenly his hand grabbed mine, pulling my fingers from my pussy. The next thing I knew I’d dropped back to being flat on my back and he was pulling me toward him. My legs were still pushed wide apart, but now my pussy was at the edge of the table. I guess I’d left a slick of my own juices across the leather top as he dragged me—I could feel a sticky trail up my back. He pushed into me without warning, sheathing himself in my channel without a word, without any preamble. I hadn’t been sure I’d even go
t him hard again, but I had—rock hard and raging. Every time he pushed home I could feel him pulsing.
I hadn’t really come down from my orgasm at that point, so it wasn’t long before I was cumming too. I guess my pussy convulsing around his cock was enough to set him off, because seconds later he shot his load into me.
He pulled out, leaving me lying there, his jism dripping out of me, down the crack of my ass to puddle on his desk. He collapsed back into his chair. I just stayed where I was. Both of us were gasping for breath, the sound of us panting in unison filling the office.
I don’t know how long it took us to recover, but it was a while. He helped me gather my clothes but he let me dress myself while he tried to use tissues to clean up the desktop. It’s one of those slight stains on the top that’s still visible—right where I put my keyboard every day I use that desk.
Anyway, after that I went home and, as usual after he’d fucked me, took a long soak in the bath. Tuesday rolled around, and he just had an ordinary blow job at closing time. Wednesday he went one better, bending me over my desk, pulling my skirt up, yanking my panties to the side and fucking me hard and fast. When he’d cum—I hadn’t by the way—he pulled my skirt down, stood me up, and handing me my purse, thrust me out through the door into the street. My panties were still tangled around me, I was red-faced from being fucked, and breathing hard, and I had his spunk dripping down my legs. Less than a minute earlier he’d been fucking me. I was mortified with embarrassment but managed to reach my car before anybody seemed to notice. Pulling my panties straight, I got a strange look from a pedestrian but I glared at her and she walked on. I drove home with his stuff leaking out into my panties—it even made a wet patch on the back of my skirt. Thankfully the garage door has that auto-open/close mechanism so I could drive out of sight of any neighbors before getting out of the car.
