by Bridy McAvoy
After that, I knew Thursday was going to be another big day—or, rather, a big afternoon—with my boss.
I was right. He was rampant that day. During the morning he managed to call me into his office three times to check something on his computer. The first time he stroked my butt, the second time he pushed my panties up into my slit, and then told me to go and remove them and put them in my purse. The third time, he inserted two fingers and masturbated me close to an orgasm. We closed at one, shutting and locking the doors and then pulling the blinds. By three minutes past one he’d bent me over my desk and was fucking me. It was a replay of the night before, only this time it was out in the library proper. I think he lasted two minutes before he pulled out and blasted his cum all over my butt. Before I could move, he pulled my skirt down and made sure he ground the material into the mess, making sure a lot of it transferred.
It was horrible, sticking to me as if he’d glued my skirt to my butt. It certainly wasn’t a turn-on for me. Then he almost dragged me into his office and made me dance for him again. Once I was naked, or rather stripped down to stockings and garters, he made me take those off as well. He made me put my heels back on. For the first time I was totally naked in front of him. He tossed the garter belt into the corner, took the stockings from me then made me fetch my panties from my purse. He sat there holding my stockings and panties while he made me lie on the floor and masturbate myself to an orgasm.
It was awful. I didn’t feel sexy, I couldn’t act sexy, but he made me work at it until finally I came—or at least was wet enough for his purposes. He dragged me to my feet, took one of the stockings and tied my hands behind my back. He grabbed the panties and wiped my pussy with them. I was almost sick when he then pushed them into my mouth. That was disgusting, but he used the other stocking to make sure I couldn’t spit them out. I was bound and gagged by my own underwear. He admired his own handiwork, then dragged me over to his desk and bent me over it once more. I guess mistreating me like that had excited him—he was certainly hard enough to repeat the process, fucking me until he was ready, then this time pulling me off the desk and ejaculating all over my breasts. He used my blouse to wipe my beasts clean.
After a couple of minutes he untied my hands and, since I couldn’t object because of the gag, he dressed me again, in the blouse and skirt soaked with two loads of his cum. Then he took the gag out and smiled at me.
I was steaming, really steaming. I tried to slap him around the face but he caught my hand. When I tried to kick him he dodged, then grasped me by the chin.
“You bastard.”
“No, not me. I want you to think for a minute.”
“What?”
“You didn’t like that, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“So I suggest you start picking your dates a bit more carefully. They might not untie you afterward.”
I know he was playing at the rough stuff, but he did plant a seed in my brain. I guess that was deliberate from his perspective—he was being harsh to drive a lesson home. One I probably didn’t need, but he did it anyway—probably because he got his kicks from it.
He did let me go and clean up, even suggesting I sponged down my blouse and leave it on the radiator to steam itself dry. In the end I didn’t. I’d already guessed I wasn’t getting my underwear back, and I wasn’t going to drive home in a wet blouse, one that water turned see-through. After that he was sweetness and light, cuddling me on his lap, just holding me, stroking my hair and letting me calm down. He even went and made coffee for us both. It was peculiar, one of the most peculiar experiences I ever had with him. About half-three he lifted me from his lap and gently undressed me, led me over to his desk, and laid me on the top. Before I really realized what he was doing—I was very suspicious—he was licking me. I think I came three times before four o’clock rolled around and he let me dress, sans underwear and the ruined stockings, and sent me home. He didn’t get me to touch him again that night. In fact, he left me alone on Friday as well.
Just bizarre, that’s all I can say about it, bizarre. Never like that before, or since.
Of course the following lunchtime, this graduate student came in looking for some book on the metaphysics of management, and struck up a conversation with me. He was kinda cute, if toward the top of my preferred age range. The conversation turned flirty, and there was hardly anyone else in the library at that moment. Before I knew it an hour had passed and I was accepting a date to go to the movies with him the following night.
She smiled at me and I smiled back.
“I remember that day quite well, too.”
“Then I won’t bother telling you about it.”
“Maybe you should, just to let me see it from your perspective.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Don’t take away all my mystery, leave me a little of it.”
“If you insist.”
“I do, I think. Anyway, the date went well, you didn’t try on too much in the theatre. Your hand brushed, oh so softly, on my knee, but didn’t linger too long. You gave me a peck on the cheek as the credits rolled, and afterward we grabbed a burger and strolled through town. That kiss at the end of the date was romantic, not passionate. I knew you were a Keeper.”
“And if I’d tried for more?”
Her smile seemed sad. “I wouldn’t have ended up with the love of my life.”
“Why?”
“Because, I’d have let you do more. Oh, I wouldn’t have let you go all the way in the cinema, but afterward we’d have probably skipped the burger and I’d have brought you here. I’d have fucked your brains out. We might have dated four or five times, but that would have been it.”
“But you didn’t fuck my brains out. Which is why you kept me at arm’s length for so long?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Will you let me make it up to you?”
“I might think about it.”
“Would it help if I was wearing less clothes?”
“You can’t wear much less than that bikini.”
Her hands rose to behind her neck but I shook my head. I knew she’d strip it off in a heartbeat if she thought it would improve her chances of cementing our marriage. I, however, knew I needed to hear more—and now was the time for her to tell me about Max. After another couple of pregnant seconds, she lowered her hands again and resumed her interrupted narrative.
The previous time I’d gone to the boatyard I’d been sensibly dressed, knowing Max was taking me out on the boat. This time I dressed differently. I wasn’t expecting to go on the boat, I was expecting to sit in his office and talk through the paperwork, at the same time showing him I wasn’t the ‘wet behind the ears’ mark he’d made me out to be. So I wore something similar to my work outfit, although the blouse was colored, a delicate pink, translucent one. The red mini-skirt wasn’t one of my shortest but it did expose some thigh. Underneath I’d worn one of my red sets of underwear. I debated the idea of stockings, but decided to go bare-legged again. I thought stockings would be a bit too much and would send the wrong signal. Once more I put my hair back in a tail—keeping it loose would again have been a wrong flag, and although I’d felt his animal magnetism, I wasn’t going to fall for it.
When I arrived at the boatyard, Max was in the office. I could see him watching as I pulled up. Max Junior appeared around the corner of the office as I stopped, and Steve arrived right behind his brother. As I got out of the car, both of the younger men stared at my legs. Neither of them were gentlemen enough to hold the door for me. They didn’t lift their gazes until I had closed the car door. I frowned at them but they just grinned—I guess they’d enjoyed the quick flash of unobtainable skin. At least, I thought it was unobtainable for them. They’d prove me wrong, of course.
Max actually opened the door for me and welcomed me into the office. I saw his stare slide from my head to my toes. This time I was wearing sandals rather than sneakers, although they didn’t have very big heels. Because I’d been on a
date with you the night before, my toenails were painted red, matching the rest of my outfit. I was really beginning to doubt my own dress sense at that moment.
The office was cluttered, so much stuff lying everywhere. The desk was piled high with paperwork and folders, the only clear space a narrow gap in the middle. Given I was used to a neat and tidy library with both front and back offices spic and span, it was a nightmare. I had to pick my way past several piles of boxed boat spares just to reach the chair he’d obviously just cleared for me.
“Right, sweetheart, have you reached a decision?”
I looked at him—not frowning, just a level stare until he looked away, slowly flushing. I guess he realized I was going to keep the meeting on a business level, and I didn’t want patronizing. When he looked up, his face was flat.
“Let me try that again. Have you reached a decision about the boat, Miss Stewart?”
“I’ve already told you to call me Samantha.”
He nodded.
“Can I see my father’s paperwork, please, and your calculation of how much is owed.”
For the next ten minutes we went over the file. My father had paid him three months in advance the week before the accident, so I quickly agreed to his calculation of just over seventeen hundred dollars to bring the account up to date.
“If you want to sell the boat, I won’t charge while I sell it for you.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but I’m keeping it.”
This seemed to rock him back in surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, why would I sell a nine k boat for four k less your commission?”
This time he really did rock back. The casters on his chair squeaked as he rolled back.
“That boat’s not worth nine k.”
I shrugged then smiled at him. I knew he could see the smile didn’t reach my eyes. “It’s worth a lot more than four k, though. What were you going to do—pocket the rest?”
His mouth opened and closed without a sound, flapping like a fish.
I continued. “I’ve checked on the internet, and made a few calls. I could get someone here tomorrow with a trailer to take it away for eight, but even he told me he was low-balling for a quick sale.”
“I wasn’t going to stiff you on it. I gave you a low-ball price, so you’d be pleased when I sold it for more. Shit, my oldest son spent last night pleading with me to buy what he called the chick magnet. The best boat on the lake.”
“So your low-ball offer was a way to get my gratitude?”
“Something like that. Sorry.”
“Idiot. Didn’t you think a librarian wouldn’t be able to fact check you.”
He spread his arms out wide. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Six months’ free yard fees would be a nice start. Writing off the back fees too.”
He winced. “I can’t do that.” He paused for a moment. “What say I give you another boat lesson, gratis, and we talk about it out there?”
I could see his eyes were calculating and my mouth went dry. He had other plans, I could see that. This man, this very dangerous man, was thinking about seducing me. Shockingly, my body was screaming, let him.
“I’m not exactly dressed for a trip on the water.”
“Sure you are—perfect, I’d say.”
I gave him an arch look. He was making his meaning clear. If I got on that boat with him, there wouldn’t be any accidental touching. It would be deliberate, very deliberate this time around. I kind of expected him to work on me, try and get me hot to trot out on the water and then bring me back here for the dirty deed. After all, there was only open water out there. That, of course, wasn’t true. It also gave me a chance to wriggle out of it. The idea of another trip in my boat was something I was looking forward to, so having a bit of teasing would make it just about perfect.
“Okay, let’s go.”
* * * *
Max played a long game. We cruised around the lake for about an hour, with me driving. Sure, his hand was almost constantly on my leg, massaging and fondling my thigh. He didn’t push my skirt up though, his fingers remained below the hem. His other arm was also always around my back, holding me, and if the boat hit slightly choppier water he pulled me in tight against him. When he did that his hand would slip down over my shoulder onto the upper slope of my breast, but he didn’t cup it, didn’t go for the nipple. Everything he did could have been passed off as being friendly or accidental rather than deliberate. I knew it wasn’t, of course. It was completely deliberate. My core flooded with warmth as the constant touching continued.
“Let me show you something.”
“Oh?” My voice was questioning and he chuckled.
“No, I meant on the lake.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’ll have to drive though—where we’re going there’s a lot of rocks, and you need to know what you’re doing.”
“Are you saying you don’t want a woman to drive you there?” He could tell I was bristling at his comment.
“No, not at all. I don’t want a novice taking us between rocks where there’s only a couple of feet of clearance to either side, and the edges are sharp. We’d go down like a stone if you ripped the bottom open.”
“Oh, I see.” I felt a little foolish at taking him the wrong way.
“Steer us toward that little island and then we’ll change over.” He pointed toward the port side and I turned the boat, remembering how he’d touched and held me as we changed over last time. It was clear he intended to do the same and more this time.
Even so, I stood, keeping both hands on the wheel, and pulled myself forward to allow him to slide along the boat. The boat listed over a little as he slid, but remained safe—we weren’t going fast of course, not with the rangers around.
Once he was close enough to reach the wheel around me he grabbed it, his hand momentarily covering mine, his head suddenly close behind my ear.
“You can let go now, Sammie, if you want.” His use of the same diminutive form of my name as Mr. Bryant did made me shiver. His lips brushed against my neck and he chuckled while his lips remained in contact with my bare sensitive skin, the vibration running through my body.
“Or you can keep hold if you want, leaving my hands free to…go where they want.”
His free hand ran up my leg, from the knee all the way up under my skirt to my thigh. I gasped and he slid his fingers around onto the front of my thigh. His hand let go of mine on the wheel and moved back toward me. I watched as he settled his palm on my chest, this time cupping my breast. My nipple was hard, desperate to dig through my clothes and meet his flesh.
Below, his fingers brushed across the front of my red panties and I couldn’t prevent a low groan escaping my throat. His lips were doing wonders on the sensitive skin below my jawline. He knew in that moment that I was his to be had.
“Not…not out here on the lake where people will see.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sammie, I know just the place.”
Confident in his victory, he took his hands away and eased me to the side, taking control of the boat. Not a moment too soon, either. I hadn’t been paying that much attention and we were very close to the island. He’d been watching, though.
He turned the boat sharply to port, dropping me neatly onto his lap, almost sitting side-saddle as the boat heeled over. He used one hand on the wheel to steer, his other hand resting on my lap. Then his fingers moved, gathering up the fabric of my skirt, revealing my legs more and more every time he glanced down. Then, with my skirt out of the way, his hand cupped my mound, covered now only by the thin satin of my underwear. I moaned again. The touch of his fingers was electric, and I knew he was going to fuck me—but where?
As we moved around the island in a lazy circle, he continued to press his fingers up and down my slit. I slid my feet as far apart as I could in the confined space of the foot-well and I knew he could feel how wet my underwear was already. In fact, I was sure I’d soon be making
a wet patch on his jeans. About a quarter of the way around he turned the boat toward the island but didn’t really slow down. I yelped as I saw the rocks in front of us, but quietened down as I noticed the gap.
Max was, and I suppose still is, a consummate boat handler. He didn’t slow down as we passed through the inlet, and then he killed the engine as we coasted to a stop in the middle of that quiet and very secluded lagoon. He was a consummate woman handler as well. I was fully aroused.
My eyes felt heavy as I looked around the small secluded and silent area. The only sound was the little wavelets we’d created reflecting back off the rocks and bouncing off the side of the boat. The gentle slapping sound and the slight rocking movement felt somehow romantic.
I eyed the rock ledge rather warily, thinking how hard that was going to be under my butt, and how cold. Max watched me looking around, an amused smile on his face. While I took stock of my surroundings he was, almost absent-mindedly, playing with my breast, rubbing and pressing it with his hand.
“Is this private enough for you?”
I licked my lips. He’d promised me somewhere away from prying eyes, and this most definitely was, unless someone followed us in here.
“What if someone comes?”
“Sweetie, there are only two people cumming here.”
He’d deliberately taken me the wrong way and I knew I was blushing at his double entendre. Even so, I was ready. Rising to my feet, I leaned back against the windshield and lifted my hands to my chest. The buttons on the pink blouse popped open one by one, exposing my cleavage and the red strap of my bra. He growled low in his throat and then rose to his feet. I expected him to take me in his arms, but he put one foot on the seat and then swung his other leg up onto the front deck. The boat rocked heavily as he straightened and I had to grasp the windshield at both sides of me for balance.
He simply put both hands under my armpits and lifted me straight up. I guess I squealed as he lifted me effortlessly over the windscreen. I hadn’t been expecting that. Then we were standing there, no safety rails or wires, no life-jackets, just him holding me as the boat steadied again. I could feel his erection pressing against the small of my back—remember, he was a lot taller than me. His arms were wrapped around me and I twisted my neck to look up into his face. Taking the invitation, his lips found mine as he bent forward and we were kissing.
