"What have I done? What am I doing?" I ask myself, incredulously, aloud. "What have I got myself into? What am I going to do, now?" I don't believe it. This kind of thing happens to someone else not me! My hands clench the wheel tighter and tighter, until my knuckles are white. Focus quivering; heart fluttering, pussy tingling, even now; an adrenaline shot still echoing through my veins; like an automaton, I keep the car heading in the direction of home. "I probably shouldn't be driving," I mutter, trying to gain some control. "So," aloud, once again, in an attempt to calm myself, "So, Genelise Petra Lavalle; now what?" I stare ahead at the road unraveling before me, and grimly recall the events of the past two days.
A month ago, really, things had seemed to be looking up. At 28 years old, and newly married, I had a house, a new bachelor's degree in Business Administration, and pretty good job prospects. Life was good.
Well it had felt good, generally, but, to be brutally honest, the married aspect of it all was already – is still – a little disappointing. Garry is a wonderful man – kind, sensitive – but, let's face it, a bit unimaginative. I feel bad even thinking that. "But it's true!" I admitted, to my growing despair. Too much of the mundane, too much ennui, and not enough exhilaration, not enough sky-rockets! I mean, I was a good girl for the most part before we got engaged. I had waited patiently, with the belief that sex after marriage would transcend... transcend what? All the hype? All the courting? Who knows?
I wonder, too, how much of my dissatisfaction is my fault. And what about Garry? Is he completely satisfied? I'd been pretty focused on my job search over the last few months – but it had paid off – "Hadn't it?" That question pin-balled around my head, like some malicious obfuscation pulling my thoughts away from the problem at hand.
Three and a half weeks ago I landed a pretty good-looking – very good-looking job at a small, upstart investment firm. Ryerson Growth – Exclusive Investment Consultation. Jason Ryerson, the boss / owner had explained, in the interview, that 'Big Returns for a Limited Clientele' was the motto and philosophy behind his rather successful one-man business. "Lately, though," he had said, "I've realized that I really need a Personal Assistant to take care of the office details and join in with the computer grunt work."
"I'm confident I can handle whatever you give me," I had replied, only slightly overstating my actual confidence.
"I hope so!" he stated, instantly raising my hopes that I had, perhaps, already got the job. "Sometimes this place is 'a real pressure-cooker'." Silent for a moment, he looked at me with inscrutable eyes. What did he see? A pretty (even if I do say so myself,) confident, eager, fresh young graduate with her whole working life ahead of her? I had hoped so. "I need someone who can anticipate. Someone who can participate. Someone who can provide ES – Executive Support."
"I'm your woman," I had asserted, wondering, in the back of my mind, what exactly ES entailed.
At that, Ryerson, had offered me the job of being his Personal Assistant or PA, and after negotiating a generous remuneration package, I had left the interview smiling like an idiot, with butterflies in my stomach, and a promise to return first thing Monday morning.
Now I think about it, maybe those first few weeks were a bit of a honeymoon. Ryerson – he's always addressed me as Mrs. Lavalle, and I him as Mr. Ryerson – anyway, he claimed on several occasions to be suitably impressed with my work, and, especially, my self-motivation. I had jumped in with both feet, and taken on tasks without prompting many times over within the first three weeks.
It was Wednesday of the fourth week when all hell broke loose. I won't bore you with the financial details, but it was the result of a global economic blip – no ones fault – that visited a sudden and severe crisis on Ryerson's successful little business. A tsunami threatening to wash out the foundations of his firm. Like I said, "No ones fault!" not mine, not Ryerson's, but we both needed to do some sandbagging to save our jobs. That was when my office duties morphed in a completely unanticipated way.
I watched as the news of the disaster sank in, clouding, darkening Ryerson's eyes. Feeling helpless, I asked, "What can I do?"
"I need to think!" he growled, "and what I need from you is to clamp your lips around my cock and keep them there until I come up with a solution. And believe me, there is always a solution."
I was completely shocked. I froze for a moment, but in that hesitation, Ryerson's cold stare deepened. In that long instant the glower of his icy eyes was palpable. Slowly, silently he swung his chair around, and, with an apparent sleight-of-hand, released his semi-erect member. I gazed a moment longer, taking in the size – the length and the girth – of what was only the fourth penis I had ever seen in the flesh. I had to remember to breathe as, in a daze, I stepped gingerly between his legs and lowered myself to my knees.
It felt like a dream. I watched as my hand moved forward in slow motion to grasp the fleshy cylinder. At my touch, its surface soft and warm on my fingertips, it grew more erect, stretching up at 60 degrees from the open fly of Ryerson's trousers. It was much bigger than Garry's, I think. I leaned forward, breathing on the swollen knob, as it twitched, reaching for my lips, growing taller yet. A drop of moisture formed at the end, and I watched it momentarily as it glittered in the light, before instinctively reaching with my tongue to gently lick it away.
I am not an expert at cock-sucking – not to put too fine a point on it – so it was with trepidation that I lowered my lips over the purple head and past the glans, to close then around the veined shaft.
With his hands softly guiding my head, he established an up and down rhythm, which I took up. There was something about the situation that made me want to excel, so, although I had never deep-throated my husband, I pushed myself harder with each stroke, taking in more and more of his steadily increasing stiffness. Between quiet 'aahs' and 'oohs' and the slurp and slap of my energetic sucking, Ryerson whispered, "Don't get anything on the pants – if you can avoid it."
"The pants?" I screamed silently to myself. But I kept my lips sealed and pushed myself deeper just as his fingers twisted more tightly in my hair and his hips began to buck, slamming his rock-hard erection against the back of my throat. His cockhead swelled to fill the back of my throat, sealing my airways. The insistent twitching of the shaft became rhythmic, slapping against my palate, until, jolting and jerking, his iron rod suddenly stiffened and began to spit, letting go volleys of semen. And it kept on squirting and squirting, round after round. I pulled back to grasp a breath, but the volume of cum made me gag, and almost sputter. Somehow I remembered – the pants – and, stifling a cough, sucking in my cheeks, I swallowed it all, save for the little bit that went up my nose. A little voice in the back of my mind observed, "That was a first. You've never swallowed before."
That thick, fleshy tube got a little soft but remained turgid and erect. With his fingertips still playing gently at my temples, Ryerson silently coaxed me to stay on him, as, in short order, he began to get hard once again. I stroked him calmly with my lips, bobbing my head less frenetically, while applying subtle suction. I'd never really noticed the textures on a penis before. Idly swirling my tongue around the end, I could feel that the knob had slightly deflated, and was warm and soft, with interesting contours. Sliding gently up and down the shaft, my lips gripped with just enough pressure to keep saliva and juices from seeping out. The kiss-soft caresses, appreciated the veined smoothness, and pliant rigidity of his still semi-erect cock. He didn't seem ready to cum, nor ready to stop, so I continued evenly, waiting for him, actively waiting. Luxuriating, I was surprised to realize, in the sensations of touch and motion.
Suddenly, abruptly, he lifted me by my armpits to stand between his legs, pulling me off his glistening rod with a 'pop'. He drilled me with his eyes, securing all my attention. In his rapid-fire, no-nonsense, let's-get-down-to-business voice, he said, "I know what to do. Take off panties. Call your husband – you're working late."
I stared once again, with eyes wide, a line of saliva still connecting my lower lip to the head of his cock. I was gob-smacked. My jaw moved, as if stretching itself – but no words came out. Leaning one hand on the edge of his desk, I lowered my panties with the other, lifting my feet to step out of them. I noticed that the gusset of my underwear was soaked – not just damp, soaked! I stuffed them in the pocket of my blazer that I, amazingly, still had on. I never even asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" I was, at that point, confounded by my circumstances.
Without any explanation, he spun me around so that my back was to him, and pulled the phone toward us. As I reached for the phone, trying to remember my husband's cell number, something inside me sparkled, and a mist of anticipation fell over me. It took a moment to regather my focus. I contemplated the meaning of the deep tingling in my fundament, as I dialed, but before I could make sense of it, I felt Ryerson's hands at my waist, beginning to pull; just as Garry answer his phone. Responding to his greeting, I said "Hi..." just as my boss's cock head dragged over my trimmed bush, and across my swollen clitoris, to brush against my puffy nether lips, and cause juices to trickle down my leg. Then, after the tiniest pause, the impressive erection sliced cleanly and completely into the depths of my well lubricated pussy, setting a fine spray of intimate fluids against my inner thighs. The force of its entrance whooshed the wind out of me, swallowing my, "...Garry," in a breathy gasp.
Stars glittered behind my eyes. My inner sparkle erupted into a dancing discharge. The throbbing rod skewering me was fatter and deeper than anything I've ever known. I felt faint. I didn't know if I could actually remain upright. The deep, deep arousal was glowing and twinkling like an arcing short circuit between to tip of his cock and the far end of my vagina. I could feel Ryerson trying to lift me, to get a rhythm started, but I resisted, holding myself down, keeping him fully inserted, at least until I finish my call.
"Gen? Gen? What's happening?"
"Sorry dear; aborted sneeze!" I explained trying to keep my voice as normal as possible.
The crackling sensation deep in my womb began to burble up my spine – slowly but inexorably. "Got a serious crisis here, at work," – I don't know why I added 'at work', where else would it be? Trying desperately to speak evenly, to keep the breathy arousal out of my voice, I said, "I'm going to have to work late." Garry asked for detail, but I put him off. "You know, it's all confidential." I could feel the insistent tingling building deep within. I had to get him off the phone! "I don't know how late. I'll call again when that becomes more clear – if it's not too late."
"See you later!" "'Bye." "Love you, too." For an instant I despised myself, but as I disconnected my attention was once again consumed by more pressing matters – my boss had his cock fully inserted – up my snatch. How had that happened? Jesus! His woodie was throbbing within me – or was that my pussy walls that were pulsing. I could feel an orgasm approaching without any movement at all, but then, as I relaxed my legs, passing control back to Ryerson, I felt him lift my hips slightly then slam me back down onto his lap, pulling himself so deep into me it felt like he was penetrating my gut. I had never felt so full in my life. For a moment the line between ecstasy and agony blurred.
Then my head – my body – exploded into orgasm, the likes of which I had never, ever experienced. Bright colours sparkled and rippled behind my eyes sending flashes of current racing up and down my spine, shimmering out through my fingers and toes, and erupting into an inferno of sensation tumbling about my pussy.
"Yessssss," Ryerson hissed, behind me – under me.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I gasped incoherently, clutching onto the edge of the desk to steady my body, as my head flopped about on my shoulders like a rag-doll.
Thrusting into me, wildly at first then slowing to a steady beat, Ryerson stated matter-of-factly, "I get my best ideas during sex." As I took up his rhythm, lifting and settling, on and off his rampant member, he slid his hands from my hips, to worm them under my blouse and into my bra, clasping my breasts. The steady, insistent rocking of his hips, his cock sawing in and out of my dripping, pulsing vagina had the, for me unheard of, suggestion of a second orgasm glow and spark deep within my womb. The instant Ryerson's fingers pinched my nipples, I went off like a bomb. My slow and steady up and down became a frenetic bouncing as I screamed out my climax.
"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!"
My coming heralded his orgasm, too. Pushing his hips into me further than I would have thought possible he twitched and groaned filling me with his seed. I could feel his cum spurting and splashing my insides, and running down my thighs. "Oh fuuuuuuuuucccckkkkk!!"
Ryerson held tight to my boobs, supporting my whole upper body as I swooned, lifting up off the desk to lie back against him. He continued to jerk and quiver within me, slowly softening as I came to rest on his lap.
"His pants," I thought, ruefully, if inexplicably, "can hardly have survived that!"
After what seemed like only a moment's reprieve, Ryerson extricated himself, tucked himself in, and, as if nothing had happened, got back to work. It was the necessity of concentrating on his monologue, separating the orders from the requests, from the comments, from the chatter, that allowed me to function. I deliberately ignored the pulsing of my core, as I casually wiped the dripping juices from my inner thighs. In that way, the next few hours were all business – a lot of contacting and connecting, revising and copying. But, like he had said initially, "There is always a solution," and eventually we were able to resolve the problem.
The world seemed quiet, almost eerily so. In the muted hush of our office I was finally making archival copies, leaning over the copy machine, when Ryerson, stated, from behind me, "That about wraps it up." In that instant, and in one motion he lifted my skirt, with a peremptory thrust, plunged his member fully into me. Gasping in surprise, I lifted my head. My mouth opened to release the air forced out by the rapid insertion. Staring straight ahead, supported by my hands, straight-armed on the copier, I tried to respond verbally, but nothing came. Trying to assemble my thoughts, I noticed his abrupt entry had, nevertheless, been eminently smooth. My vagina had apparently welcomed the unexpected penetration, still slick with our residual juices.
"Why am I not protesting?" I asked myself, as I remained, for the moment silent and still. But, surprise notwithstanding, the abruptness of his entry was totally arousing. His hardness filled me, bumping and stretching me deep within my pussy. I could feel the walls of my sex grasping and squeezing, caressing the veined surface of his iron bar. Amazingly, or perhaps not, I was on the brink, panting and squealing by the second thrust. Gibbering, softly at first, then louder and louder, I could feel a climax rushing up my spine – buzzing and crackling! "Unh, unh, ahhhhh!" I raised my head, and let out a primordial scream as I slammed my hips back to meat his lunging, plunging stab, and another orgasm flooded over me. Awash with colour and electricity, my awareness misted over. My consciousness began to fade. If it hadn't been for Ryerson's member, holding me up like a coat hook I'm sure I would have collapsed.
Suddenly leaning over my back, Ryerson's hands grabbed wildly at my breast, frantically pulling my jacket open, tearing at my blouse like a man obsessed. In moments buttons popped and the thin material of my top was pulled wide. Delving roughly into the cups of my bra, my breasts were whipped out into the open, only to be kneaded forcefully, strong fingers catching and tweaking my nipples – pulling and twisting them almost painfully. Almost, but not quite. Sensations whirled about me, drawing me back to full consciousness, arcing from my abused buds to my pussy – shooting up my spine to swirl around my head. I was dizzy and breathless – having trouble recovering from cumming – as the pounding continued. I could hear the sound of moist flesh slapping together on every thrust, and the squelch of leaking juices on every retreat.
As a complaint finally formed in my mind, I realized it had become incredibly irrelevant – much too little too late. I remained silent, if not still, pushing my ass back from the photocopier against his ramming cock with my arms, and cushioning the pounding attacks with flexed elbows.
"Oh, oh, oh," Ryerson began to accelerate, hunched over me, continuing to maul my exposed tits, mercilessly. I could feel yet another climax germinating deep in my chest. Slap, slap, slap. Every push, every genital collision, every lewd squelch fanned the growing spark, until, as he dropped my boobs and grabbed my hips to pull me fast against his pubis, his throbbing member as deep as possible, letting out a primeval sort of bellow that ignited the incendiary sensation that encompassed my body, we came together. The sparkle and intensity of my climax blotted out reality. Collapsing onto the copier, consciousness fled for a bit, only to return in dribs and drabs, beginning with the awareness of the mammoth cock still twitching and spurting so deep in me that it must have been touching the back side of my tonsils.
His hips now still, pressing my own into the body of the copy machine, Ryerson took his hands from my waist and returned them to my chest, worming them over the copy surface to cup my breasts authoritatively; he began to caress them once again, pinching my sensitive nipples. I could feel his heaving chest against my back, as my own breath, slowly returning to normal, automatically matched his. For a few moments we were silent and still, the only sounds being our soft, matched panting.
Then, abruptly, he stood up. "Mmmmm, nothing like a good fuck to release tension," he purred as he extricated his softened, still slimy dick. "I can tie up the loose ends tomorrow. You might as well head home now." Though I could barely muster the energy to lift myself off the copier, I brushed my skirt back down, then, corralling my boobs with my bra, I pulled my blouse together, tucking it in and covering the lack of buttons with my jacket. Grabbing the copies from the tray I turned to see my boss just zipping up – grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "Take tomorrow off," he said, almost back to his old officiousness, adding, as his eyes fixed on mine, "You've earned it – we'll cover it."
"Thanks," I replied softly, placing the copies into his extended hand. Averting my eyes, I made my way to my desk, shut down my computer, grabbed my purse, and left, muttering, "Bye," without looking back.
The drive home was a confused blur. Disturbing questions swirled around my mind: "What just happened?" "What have I got myself into?" "And what got into me – besides the obvious." Smiling, I wondered about my sanity. How on earth I could find humour in this? Fortunately Garry was sawing logs when I got home. After a quick, guilty shower, I donned a nightie and climbed into bed, weighing the wisdom of snuggling with my husband, and waking him, I settled for lightly spooning.
Surprisingly, I slept like a baby, only waking as Garry was tying his tie. "That was a long shift yesterday," he observed. "Everything okay?" I listened closely but detected no suspicion or rancor in his voice.
My tummy was a-flutter, my mind a miasma! I really had no idea how to proceed. "Yeah," I yawned, "it was a real marathon – but we got it straightened out."
"I hope you won't have too many of those."
"Me, too," I chirped through another yawn, before adding, "I got today off – with pay, though!"
"That's great, honey." Leaning over to kiss me good-bye, he grabbed a quick tit-grope. "take it easy then. See you tonight" At the sound of the car starting and driving off, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I felt like I had been holding my breath. "Well, for the moment, I don't have to do anything at all," I breathed, adding out loud, "so there!"
After breakfast, I went to the driving range. Nothing like whacking golf balls to ease the agro. I argued the case with myself, through a large bucket of balls. "It was tantamount to rape." Whack! "No, I initially joined voluntarily." Whack! "Initially, nothing – I was complicit!" Whack! "It was abuse of power." Whack! "I never protested." Whack! "I didn't even complain." Whack! "In some ways it was kinda nice." Whack! "It was wonderful!" Whack! "Victim or accessory?" Whack! "No, he still took unseemly advantage of me and my position!" Whack!
Finishing up my bucket I decided to have it out with Ryerson, while I was still mad – or puzzled – or something. "I'll make my complaint right now. Better late than never, anyway," I thought, as I tossed my gear into the car. "I mean," I sputtered, as I slammed the door and headed, seething and confused back to the office, "the arrogant presumptiveness of it all!"
I seemed to get angrier the closer I got to work. But I don't really know if I was angry about the situation, about what happened, or about the confusion and emotional turmoil it had caused. Roaring into the parking lot, I slammed the door and stormed into Ryerson's office, blowing open the door without even knocking. As I was about to launch into him with my half-prepared tirade, I realized he was on the phone. Looking up, his smile was completely disarming. Raising a finger to signal wait a mo', he said into the phone, "Look Pete, I gotta go. I'll get back to you in a bit. Ya, okay then."
"Well, what a pleasant surprise. What's on your mind?"
'Well, I, uh, I just wanted to..." For some reason, standing there looking into his glittery eyes, my mouth went dry, my tongue, paralyzed.
"By the way, we did great work last night! Everything worked out splendidly! Couldn't have been better." He paused, before adding, in a voice that was somehow more silky than smooth, "Your Executive Support," you could hear the capitals as he emphasized each syllable, "was stupendous."
Heaving a deep breath, I sputtered, "That's what I want to talk about." His outrageously warm smile rekindled my anger – and confusion. "You took advantage of me! That was not consensual!" A sad look partially obscured his smile, and he shook his head gravely. "You took me without my consent!" I reiterated, although even to me it was beginning to sound a bit lame.
"You asked what you could do, and I told you just what sort of Executive Support I needed." He shrugged, puzzled. "You gave it voluntarily. Willingly – eagerly, even." Looking up directly into my face, he raised an eyebrow. "You certainly seemed to enjoy it!" Shaking his head again, he muttered, "And I thought we worked so well together.
I stood there fuming – in my little golf skirt and top – hands on my hips, mouth flapping, no words coming out.
Speechless and frustrated, I shuffled about, trying to order my thoughts – hell, trying to form some sort of coherent thought – anything.
Finally, he broke the restless silence. "Look at you. Your nipples are probably rock hard."
My hands flew to my breasts, trying to cover, however futilely, my high-beams. My nipples were rock hard – rock hard and tingling.
"I'd be willing to bet that your cunt," I know I flinched at the use of the c-word, furthermore he was watching for my reaction. A brief smugness passed across his face, "is drooling right now."
My right hand dropped off my breast, heading, by its own volition for my crotch, to check on his assertion. I caught myself just in time. Ryerson nodded, knowingly.
"Okay," he said, sounding, once again, very businesslike, "I'm paying you for today, anyway. So let's say this: you allow me to verify the extent of your arousal, whether I'm right in thinking you're turned on or not, and I'll give you a double-time bonus." He paused to let it sink in. "Okay?" I was dumbfounded. He reached gently for my hand and drew me closer. "C'mere." And, as much as I tried to ignore it, a warm wave of anticipation swept through me.
My eyes were locked in his gaze. Predator / prey! Slowly his hand reached under my skirt and stroked the gusset of my panties. They weren't really panties, more utilitarian big whities – a kind of a jockey shorts cover-up under my short, little golf skirt. A random thought flitted resignedly, unbidden, across my mind. "They're hardly sexy." Suddenly I was aware of the breeze cooling my inflamed pussy, wafting through my dampened bush. I could feel my swollen labia, pressed against the soaked material of my underwear, then the insistent fingers, pulling and prodding, pushing the gusset aside to separate my lips. Shivers ran through me, head to toe. I thrilled to the slow touch as his fingers plowed my slick furrow, gathering my most intimate feminine dew, as they sought out my clitoris. A tingling, sparkling intensity fired up from my pussy to pulse and throb deep in my belly.
"Your nipples appear to be rock hard, although I think I'd need to feel them to be sure." Holding one hand still between my legs, he inserted his other hand beneath mine, cupping my clothed breast. Removing his hand from within my wet underwear, he said, matter-of-factly, "Take off your ginch, my dear, and have a seat," indicating his lap. As he momentarily withdrew his other hand I felt and strange emptiness, as if the fire glowing inside me was running low on fuel. Like an automaton, balancing myself with one hand on his shoulder, I reached down to pull my jockeys down, lifting my feet to yank them over my shoes and step out of them.
While I did that, the boss fumbled with his pants and released his impressive erection. No words were spoken as he gestured for me to straddle his knees and sit on his lap. I watched, objectively, as the surreal events unfolded. Oddly objective for an instant, I felt pleased that my little patch of bush – arrowing down at my slit – was neatly trimmed. One hand still on his shoulder, I reached for his cock, and held it as I lowered myself onto it. Smooth as silk, it slid in, deeper and deeper, its girth filling my channel. The sparkling glow of carnal excitement increased with my descent, as if it were connected to a rheostat. I felt like I was about to explode as his hardness filled me, and as it bumped the end of my vaginal passage, tapping against my cervix, fully engulfed, my puffy labia and engorged clitoris pushed through his pubic hair to smunch against his pubis. We became perfectly still.
It was a silent climax. I'm not sure he even knew. Unbelievable, fantastic sensations raced up and down my spine, clattering and clashing in my fundament, exploding in my head in waves of colour and light. My eyes, still fixed in his gaze, glazed. My mouth hung open. I could feel myself – my pussy – drooling. My cunt, as he called it, seemed to pulse and spasm – almost squirting, soaking his pubic beard with my juices. I didn't shake or shudder, or move at all, but inside I was experiencing the strangest, most wonderful orgasm ever!
As my eyes came back into focus, I think I smiled. Ryerson smiled back and started to lift my golf shirt. "Now let's see if those nipples are as hard as I think they are." Once my shirt was raised up under my chin, he deftly flipped my bra cups down exposing my, now swollen, heaving breasts. Immediately his fingers went to my nipples, verifying their arousal and hardness. "Ah," he sighed. "Just as I suspected!" He pinched them and rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers. Shockwaves coursed through my libido. "Well, they're certainly hard – I'd say pretty much fully aroused. Wouldn't you agree?" His eyes pierced my mind.
I nodded mutely, biting my lower lip to keep from moaning. "Yep," he continued, "Pretty damned turned on!" Giving my nipples a pull and a twist, that elicited a tiny gasp, he observed, "You're quite the little minx. Who would have thunk?"
As much as I tried to resist, his continued manipulation of my breasts, my tits, caused me to squirm – just a little – a slight waver of my torso, a tiny shudder of my hips. I was waiting for him to commence thrusting; but he didn't.
Virtually motionless, I sat up straight, impaled on his rampant erection, hands on his shoulders for balance. He, still, except for his hands at my breasts, flicking and twiddling my nipples. "Very perky," he whispered, so as not to upset the stillness. "They hardly need support. You could go braless no sweat. You should consider that." With that he grabbed my rolled shirt and began lifting. I lifted my arms automatically as he pulled it over my head and tossed it onto his desk.
All this time, his hair subtly brushing my lips and clit, the end of his penis rubbing and pushing at the end of my womb, felt like gamma-rays arcing and flashing from another dimension, building in intensity, trying to ignite some sort of nuclear device deep within me. I still waited.
"Oh," he squealed, like a little boy opening a gift, "I just love these front clasp bras!" He unsnapped the clip and began peeling the lingerie aside, fully exposing my boobs. "Ooooweeee!" He sounded seriously gleeful. Pulling the straps free of my arms, he dropped the bra then cupped and lifted each breast. "Perfect! They're perfect!" Curiously his assessment of my tits served only to heighten my agitation. I could feel the end of his cock searing my depths – increasingly.
Ryerson held still a moment, his eyes had let go their grip on mine, and were staring almost hungrily at my tits. Smoothly he leaned forward and caught a nipple with his tongue, sucking it fully into his mouth, swirling his tongue around my areola before letting go to change sides. His back and forth ministrations initiated an ignition sequence. Electrical pulses glittered back from my breasts to twist around my spine then bounce up and down, flashing colour and shape behind my eyes, while twinkling shimmers and sparks in my abdomen. I could stay still no longer.
I subtly unweighted my hips for a moment, then dropped, unweighted then dropped, rising no more than an inch, I was almost not fucking myself on his strong, proud prick. And each time I dropped, there were small detonations – one at the end of Ryerson's cock, where it touched the far wall of my twat, and one at the base of his cock, where it brushed my clitoris. On and on. Tiny, regular, repeated climaxes, which rolled together into a series of quiet crises. Stifling my cries, I squealed and whimpered into his hair, moving my hands from his shoulders to firmly hold his head about his ears, guiding his lips between my nipples.
He continued sucking and tweaking my nipples, left then right, back and forth – nipping my engorged buds with his teeth, flicking with his tongue – his fingers twiddling and pinching on one side as he sucked the entire areola of the other breast into his mouth, drawing tightening circles around the nub before pulling and stretching with his lips.
The subtle humping of my hips continued, as I fought to stay in control. I could feel my grip slipping, though. My arousal soared. My psyche pleaded for release – colours and sparks, glistening waves of electricity raced up and down my spine, hissing and snapping behind my eyes. No longer able to control the amplitude of my hips, my humping suddenly exploded in frenetic bouncing. My squeaks and squeals crescendoed into a keening yowl. The mini-orgasms gathered, like a train crash in slow motion – one car plowing into the next, the glorious sensations piling one upon the next, until a mind-blowing climax ripped through me. A tornado of energy, leaving no corner of my being untouched. Ecstasy upon ecstasy!
"Unh, unh, unh!" The heat in my pussy was almost unbearable, as flames licked the far reaches of my inner core. Pulling his head tight into my chest, I pounded myself against him, repeatedly, frantically. My vaginal muscles gripped him tight, as if hanging on for dear life. Pulling against his iron rod, refusing to let go, I could feel his weight pulling down on my pussy's walls as I tried to lift off him. Struggling to rise, I had to force myself deliberately to relax my grip, just for an instant, while I lifted slightly, drawing up until just his knob remained within. Then I plunged myself down, fully engulfing him – mashing my genitals against his pubis.
Impossibly, my climax continued to grow. The apex of the orgasm seemed to rise further and further. Bouncing brutally on his woodie, I began to shriek, "Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!" until it disarticulated into a guttural wail. And it kept going and going; and I kept on coming and coming – like the Everyready Bunny with his batteries in backwards! Exhilaration! The strongest orgasm ever – by orders of ten!
As I finally peaked, I became aware of my bosses member as it stiffened to an incredible rigidity, twitching and jerking. However improbably, I could feel his ejaculation! I could feel volley after volley of his cum splashing my cervix and sloshing within my pussy, before being squeezed out, with each successive thrust.
Then the plug was pulled, after a couple more half-hearted bounces, Ryerson's hips still rising to meet my pushes, my body coasted to a stop. Chests heaving, breath ragged, we were, otherwise, still – except for his lips, still sucking gently on my nipple. And I floated away in a kind of post-orgasmic euphoria.
Was it really ages that we sat there – me straddling his knees, my back to his work station – before he began to lift me off, and extricate himself from beneath. My awareness returned slowly, and I found myself leaning back against the edge of his desk as he eased himself out of my reach. I felt I was surfacing from a dream – and, suddenly, I felt not just a little silly, standing there naked but for my shoes and socks. Somewhere along the way I had shed my skirt as well.
I could feel my boss watching me, so I turned to watch him as he smiled at me, using a tissue to wipe ineffectively the front of his pants. When he saw me looking, his smile grew. "Now that was what I call 'Executive Support!' Wow! I'd say you've taken to this like a duck to water!" I nodded, not sure if I was agreeing or just acknowledging his rather back-handed compliment. I gathered skirt, top, and underwear without taking my eyes off my boss. His Cheshire Cat grin was beguiling. Silently, I donned my clothes, and straightened myself to leave – dazed but eminently satisfied. As I reached the door of his office he casually remarked, "Maybe next time you'll let me tap your ass." I froze, and turned to stare at him for a long moment, mute. I didn't think anything would surprise me after all that had just happened, but, for some reason, that caught me off guard. He cocked his head and gave me a mischievous grin while rearranging his pants and pulling up his fly, then he turned back to his desk.
And here I am, in the car, almost home, asking myself, again, "So, Genelise Petra Lavalle; now what?" Surprisingly, shockingly, the answer comes quickly, and, really, without histrionics; if I'm going to be a good – no, make that a great Personal Assistant, I'll need to provide peerless personal assistance and superior executive support. An almost inappropriate calmness envelops me, soothing the turmoil in my mind. "My ass...," I muse, objectively. "He wants to, uh, sample my ass." Somehow, I am already pulling into the driveway at home, having arrived unscathed. "I'll have to try my vibrator up the poop-chute – just to get it used to it." Gathering my golf clubs, my thoughts oddly seem to be the most normal thing in the world. "I'll need to get a bigger dildo, to really make myself ready." Unlocking the back door, I hear myself saying aloud, "This is so exciting!" and suddenly I can't stop grinning.
A month ago, really, things had seemed to be looking up. At 28 years old, and newly married, I had a house, a new bachelor's degree in Business Administration, and pretty good job prospects. Life was good.
Well it had felt good, generally, but, to be brutally honest, the married aspect of it all was already – is still – a little disappointing. Garry is a wonderful man – kind, sensitive – but, let's face it, a bit unimaginative. I feel bad even thinking that. "But it's true!" I admitted, to my growing despair. Too much of the mundane, too much ennui, and not enough exhilaration, not enough sky-rockets! I mean, I was a good girl for the most part before we got engaged. I had waited patiently, with the belief that sex after marriage would transcend... transcend what? All the hype? All the courting? Who knows?
I wonder, too, how much of my dissatisfaction is my fault. And what about Garry? Is he completely satisfied? I'd been pretty focused on my job search over the last few months – but it had paid off – "Hadn't it?" That question pin-balled around my head, like some malicious obfuscation pulling my thoughts away from the problem at hand.
Three and a half weeks ago I landed a pretty good-looking – very good-looking job at a small, upstart investment firm. Ryerson Growth – Exclusive Investment Consultation. Jason Ryerson, the boss / owner had explained, in the interview, that 'Big Returns for a Limited Clientele' was the motto and philosophy behind his rather successful one-man business. "Lately, though," he had said, "I've realized that I really need a Personal Assistant to take care of the office details and join in with the computer grunt work."
"I'm confident I can handle whatever you give me," I had replied, only slightly overstating my actual confidence.
"I hope so!" he stated, instantly raising my hopes that I had, perhaps, already got the job. "Sometimes this place is 'a real pressure-cooker'." Silent for a moment, he looked at me with inscrutable eyes. What did he see? A pretty (even if I do say so myself,) confident, eager, fresh young graduate with her whole working life ahead of her? I had hoped so. "I need someone who can anticipate. Someone who can participate. Someone who can provide ES – Executive Support."
"I'm your woman," I had asserted, wondering, in the back of my mind, what exactly ES entailed.
At that, Ryerson, had offered me the job of being his Personal Assistant or PA, and after negotiating a generous remuneration package, I had left the interview smiling like an idiot, with butterflies in my stomach, and a promise to return first thing Monday morning.
Now I think about it, maybe those first few weeks were a bit of a honeymoon. Ryerson – he's always addressed me as Mrs. Lavalle, and I him as Mr. Ryerson – anyway, he claimed on several occasions to be suitably impressed with my work, and, especially, my self-motivation. I had jumped in with both feet, and taken on tasks without prompting many times over within the first three weeks.
It was Wednesday of the fourth week when all hell broke loose. I won't bore you with the financial details, but it was the result of a global economic blip – no ones fault – that visited a sudden and severe crisis on Ryerson's successful little business. A tsunami threatening to wash out the foundations of his firm. Like I said, "No ones fault!" not mine, not Ryerson's, but we both needed to do some sandbagging to save our jobs. That was when my office duties morphed in a completely unanticipated way.
I watched as the news of the disaster sank in, clouding, darkening Ryerson's eyes. Feeling helpless, I asked, "What can I do?"
"I need to think!" he growled, "and what I need from you is to clamp your lips around my cock and keep them there until I come up with a solution. And believe me, there is always a solution."
I was completely shocked. I froze for a moment, but in that hesitation, Ryerson's cold stare deepened. In that long instant the glower of his icy eyes was palpable. Slowly, silently he swung his chair around, and, with an apparent sleight-of-hand, released his semi-erect member. I gazed a moment longer, taking in the size – the length and the girth – of what was only the fourth penis I had ever seen in the flesh. I had to remember to breathe as, in a daze, I stepped gingerly between his legs and lowered myself to my knees.
It felt like a dream. I watched as my hand moved forward in slow motion to grasp the fleshy cylinder. At my touch, its surface soft and warm on my fingertips, it grew more erect, stretching up at 60 degrees from the open fly of Ryerson's trousers. It was much bigger than Garry's, I think. I leaned forward, breathing on the swollen knob, as it twitched, reaching for my lips, growing taller yet. A drop of moisture formed at the end, and I watched it momentarily as it glittered in the light, before instinctively reaching with my tongue to gently lick it away.
I am not an expert at cock-sucking – not to put too fine a point on it – so it was with trepidation that I lowered my lips over the purple head and past the glans, to close then around the veined shaft.
With his hands softly guiding my head, he established an up and down rhythm, which I took up. There was something about the situation that made me want to excel, so, although I had never deep-throated my husband, I pushed myself harder with each stroke, taking in more and more of his steadily increasing stiffness. Between quiet 'aahs' and 'oohs' and the slurp and slap of my energetic sucking, Ryerson whispered, "Don't get anything on the pants – if you can avoid it."
"The pants?" I screamed silently to myself. But I kept my lips sealed and pushed myself deeper just as his fingers twisted more tightly in my hair and his hips began to buck, slamming his rock-hard erection against the back of my throat. His cockhead swelled to fill the back of my throat, sealing my airways. The insistent twitching of the shaft became rhythmic, slapping against my palate, until, jolting and jerking, his iron rod suddenly stiffened and began to spit, letting go volleys of semen. And it kept on squirting and squirting, round after round. I pulled back to grasp a breath, but the volume of cum made me gag, and almost sputter. Somehow I remembered – the pants – and, stifling a cough, sucking in my cheeks, I swallowed it all, save for the little bit that went up my nose. A little voice in the back of my mind observed, "That was a first. You've never swallowed before."
That thick, fleshy tube got a little soft but remained turgid and erect. With his fingertips still playing gently at my temples, Ryerson silently coaxed me to stay on him, as, in short order, he began to get hard once again. I stroked him calmly with my lips, bobbing my head less frenetically, while applying subtle suction. I'd never really noticed the textures on a penis before. Idly swirling my tongue around the end, I could feel that the knob had slightly deflated, and was warm and soft, with interesting contours. Sliding gently up and down the shaft, my lips gripped with just enough pressure to keep saliva and juices from seeping out. The kiss-soft caresses, appreciated the veined smoothness, and pliant rigidity of his still semi-erect cock. He didn't seem ready to cum, nor ready to stop, so I continued evenly, waiting for him, actively waiting. Luxuriating, I was surprised to realize, in the sensations of touch and motion.
Suddenly, abruptly, he lifted me by my armpits to stand between his legs, pulling me off his glistening rod with a 'pop'. He drilled me with his eyes, securing all my attention. In his rapid-fire, no-nonsense, let's-get-down-to-business voice, he said, "I know what to do. Take off panties. Call your husband – you're working late."
I stared once again, with eyes wide, a line of saliva still connecting my lower lip to the head of his cock. I was gob-smacked. My jaw moved, as if stretching itself – but no words came out. Leaning one hand on the edge of his desk, I lowered my panties with the other, lifting my feet to step out of them. I noticed that the gusset of my underwear was soaked – not just damp, soaked! I stuffed them in the pocket of my blazer that I, amazingly, still had on. I never even asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" I was, at that point, confounded by my circumstances.
Without any explanation, he spun me around so that my back was to him, and pulled the phone toward us. As I reached for the phone, trying to remember my husband's cell number, something inside me sparkled, and a mist of anticipation fell over me. It took a moment to regather my focus. I contemplated the meaning of the deep tingling in my fundament, as I dialed, but before I could make sense of it, I felt Ryerson's hands at my waist, beginning to pull; just as Garry answer his phone. Responding to his greeting, I said "Hi..." just as my boss's cock head dragged over my trimmed bush, and across my swollen clitoris, to brush against my puffy nether lips, and cause juices to trickle down my leg. Then, after the tiniest pause, the impressive erection sliced cleanly and completely into the depths of my well lubricated pussy, setting a fine spray of intimate fluids against my inner thighs. The force of its entrance whooshed the wind out of me, swallowing my, "...Garry," in a breathy gasp.
Stars glittered behind my eyes. My inner sparkle erupted into a dancing discharge. The throbbing rod skewering me was fatter and deeper than anything I've ever known. I felt faint. I didn't know if I could actually remain upright. The deep, deep arousal was glowing and twinkling like an arcing short circuit between to tip of his cock and the far end of my vagina. I could feel Ryerson trying to lift me, to get a rhythm started, but I resisted, holding myself down, keeping him fully inserted, at least until I finish my call.
"Gen? Gen? What's happening?"
"Sorry dear; aborted sneeze!" I explained trying to keep my voice as normal as possible.
The crackling sensation deep in my womb began to burble up my spine – slowly but inexorably. "Got a serious crisis here, at work," – I don't know why I added 'at work', where else would it be? Trying desperately to speak evenly, to keep the breathy arousal out of my voice, I said, "I'm going to have to work late." Garry asked for detail, but I put him off. "You know, it's all confidential." I could feel the insistent tingling building deep within. I had to get him off the phone! "I don't know how late. I'll call again when that becomes more clear – if it's not too late."
"See you later!" "'Bye." "Love you, too." For an instant I despised myself, but as I disconnected my attention was once again consumed by more pressing matters – my boss had his cock fully inserted – up my snatch. How had that happened? Jesus! His woodie was throbbing within me – or was that my pussy walls that were pulsing. I could feel an orgasm approaching without any movement at all, but then, as I relaxed my legs, passing control back to Ryerson, I felt him lift my hips slightly then slam me back down onto his lap, pulling himself so deep into me it felt like he was penetrating my gut. I had never felt so full in my life. For a moment the line between ecstasy and agony blurred.
Then my head – my body – exploded into orgasm, the likes of which I had never, ever experienced. Bright colours sparkled and rippled behind my eyes sending flashes of current racing up and down my spine, shimmering out through my fingers and toes, and erupting into an inferno of sensation tumbling about my pussy.
"Yessssss," Ryerson hissed, behind me – under me.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I gasped incoherently, clutching onto the edge of the desk to steady my body, as my head flopped about on my shoulders like a rag-doll.
Thrusting into me, wildly at first then slowing to a steady beat, Ryerson stated matter-of-factly, "I get my best ideas during sex." As I took up his rhythm, lifting and settling, on and off his rampant member, he slid his hands from my hips, to worm them under my blouse and into my bra, clasping my breasts. The steady, insistent rocking of his hips, his cock sawing in and out of my dripping, pulsing vagina had the, for me unheard of, suggestion of a second orgasm glow and spark deep within my womb. The instant Ryerson's fingers pinched my nipples, I went off like a bomb. My slow and steady up and down became a frenetic bouncing as I screamed out my climax.
"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!"
My coming heralded his orgasm, too. Pushing his hips into me further than I would have thought possible he twitched and groaned filling me with his seed. I could feel his cum spurting and splashing my insides, and running down my thighs. "Oh fuuuuuuuuucccckkkkk!!"
Ryerson held tight to my boobs, supporting my whole upper body as I swooned, lifting up off the desk to lie back against him. He continued to jerk and quiver within me, slowly softening as I came to rest on his lap.
"His pants," I thought, ruefully, if inexplicably, "can hardly have survived that!"
After what seemed like only a moment's reprieve, Ryerson extricated himself, tucked himself in, and, as if nothing had happened, got back to work. It was the necessity of concentrating on his monologue, separating the orders from the requests, from the comments, from the chatter, that allowed me to function. I deliberately ignored the pulsing of my core, as I casually wiped the dripping juices from my inner thighs. In that way, the next few hours were all business – a lot of contacting and connecting, revising and copying. But, like he had said initially, "There is always a solution," and eventually we were able to resolve the problem.
The world seemed quiet, almost eerily so. In the muted hush of our office I was finally making archival copies, leaning over the copy machine, when Ryerson, stated, from behind me, "That about wraps it up." In that instant, and in one motion he lifted my skirt, with a peremptory thrust, plunged his member fully into me. Gasping in surprise, I lifted my head. My mouth opened to release the air forced out by the rapid insertion. Staring straight ahead, supported by my hands, straight-armed on the copier, I tried to respond verbally, but nothing came. Trying to assemble my thoughts, I noticed his abrupt entry had, nevertheless, been eminently smooth. My vagina had apparently welcomed the unexpected penetration, still slick with our residual juices.
"Why am I not protesting?" I asked myself, as I remained, for the moment silent and still. But, surprise notwithstanding, the abruptness of his entry was totally arousing. His hardness filled me, bumping and stretching me deep within my pussy. I could feel the walls of my sex grasping and squeezing, caressing the veined surface of his iron bar. Amazingly, or perhaps not, I was on the brink, panting and squealing by the second thrust. Gibbering, softly at first, then louder and louder, I could feel a climax rushing up my spine – buzzing and crackling! "Unh, unh, ahhhhh!" I raised my head, and let out a primordial scream as I slammed my hips back to meat his lunging, plunging stab, and another orgasm flooded over me. Awash with colour and electricity, my awareness misted over. My consciousness began to fade. If it hadn't been for Ryerson's member, holding me up like a coat hook I'm sure I would have collapsed.
Suddenly leaning over my back, Ryerson's hands grabbed wildly at my breast, frantically pulling my jacket open, tearing at my blouse like a man obsessed. In moments buttons popped and the thin material of my top was pulled wide. Delving roughly into the cups of my bra, my breasts were whipped out into the open, only to be kneaded forcefully, strong fingers catching and tweaking my nipples – pulling and twisting them almost painfully. Almost, but not quite. Sensations whirled about me, drawing me back to full consciousness, arcing from my abused buds to my pussy – shooting up my spine to swirl around my head. I was dizzy and breathless – having trouble recovering from cumming – as the pounding continued. I could hear the sound of moist flesh slapping together on every thrust, and the squelch of leaking juices on every retreat.
As a complaint finally formed in my mind, I realized it had become incredibly irrelevant – much too little too late. I remained silent, if not still, pushing my ass back from the photocopier against his ramming cock with my arms, and cushioning the pounding attacks with flexed elbows.
"Oh, oh, oh," Ryerson began to accelerate, hunched over me, continuing to maul my exposed tits, mercilessly. I could feel yet another climax germinating deep in my chest. Slap, slap, slap. Every push, every genital collision, every lewd squelch fanned the growing spark, until, as he dropped my boobs and grabbed my hips to pull me fast against his pubis, his throbbing member as deep as possible, letting out a primeval sort of bellow that ignited the incendiary sensation that encompassed my body, we came together. The sparkle and intensity of my climax blotted out reality. Collapsing onto the copier, consciousness fled for a bit, only to return in dribs and drabs, beginning with the awareness of the mammoth cock still twitching and spurting so deep in me that it must have been touching the back side of my tonsils.
His hips now still, pressing my own into the body of the copy machine, Ryerson took his hands from my waist and returned them to my chest, worming them over the copy surface to cup my breasts authoritatively; he began to caress them once again, pinching my sensitive nipples. I could feel his heaving chest against my back, as my own breath, slowly returning to normal, automatically matched his. For a few moments we were silent and still, the only sounds being our soft, matched panting.
Then, abruptly, he stood up. "Mmmmm, nothing like a good fuck to release tension," he purred as he extricated his softened, still slimy dick. "I can tie up the loose ends tomorrow. You might as well head home now." Though I could barely muster the energy to lift myself off the copier, I brushed my skirt back down, then, corralling my boobs with my bra, I pulled my blouse together, tucking it in and covering the lack of buttons with my jacket. Grabbing the copies from the tray I turned to see my boss just zipping up – grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "Take tomorrow off," he said, almost back to his old officiousness, adding, as his eyes fixed on mine, "You've earned it – we'll cover it."
"Thanks," I replied softly, placing the copies into his extended hand. Averting my eyes, I made my way to my desk, shut down my computer, grabbed my purse, and left, muttering, "Bye," without looking back.
The drive home was a confused blur. Disturbing questions swirled around my mind: "What just happened?" "What have I got myself into?" "And what got into me – besides the obvious." Smiling, I wondered about my sanity. How on earth I could find humour in this? Fortunately Garry was sawing logs when I got home. After a quick, guilty shower, I donned a nightie and climbed into bed, weighing the wisdom of snuggling with my husband, and waking him, I settled for lightly spooning.
Surprisingly, I slept like a baby, only waking as Garry was tying his tie. "That was a long shift yesterday," he observed. "Everything okay?" I listened closely but detected no suspicion or rancor in his voice.
My tummy was a-flutter, my mind a miasma! I really had no idea how to proceed. "Yeah," I yawned, "it was a real marathon – but we got it straightened out."
"I hope you won't have too many of those."
"Me, too," I chirped through another yawn, before adding, "I got today off – with pay, though!"
"That's great, honey." Leaning over to kiss me good-bye, he grabbed a quick tit-grope. "take it easy then. See you tonight" At the sound of the car starting and driving off, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I felt like I had been holding my breath. "Well, for the moment, I don't have to do anything at all," I breathed, adding out loud, "so there!"
After breakfast, I went to the driving range. Nothing like whacking golf balls to ease the agro. I argued the case with myself, through a large bucket of balls. "It was tantamount to rape." Whack! "No, I initially joined voluntarily." Whack! "Initially, nothing – I was complicit!" Whack! "It was abuse of power." Whack! "I never protested." Whack! "I didn't even complain." Whack! "In some ways it was kinda nice." Whack! "It was wonderful!" Whack! "Victim or accessory?" Whack! "No, he still took unseemly advantage of me and my position!" Whack!
Finishing up my bucket I decided to have it out with Ryerson, while I was still mad – or puzzled – or something. "I'll make my complaint right now. Better late than never, anyway," I thought, as I tossed my gear into the car. "I mean," I sputtered, as I slammed the door and headed, seething and confused back to the office, "the arrogant presumptiveness of it all!"
I seemed to get angrier the closer I got to work. But I don't really know if I was angry about the situation, about what happened, or about the confusion and emotional turmoil it had caused. Roaring into the parking lot, I slammed the door and stormed into Ryerson's office, blowing open the door without even knocking. As I was about to launch into him with my half-prepared tirade, I realized he was on the phone. Looking up, his smile was completely disarming. Raising a finger to signal wait a mo', he said into the phone, "Look Pete, I gotta go. I'll get back to you in a bit. Ya, okay then."
"Well, what a pleasant surprise. What's on your mind?"
'Well, I, uh, I just wanted to..." For some reason, standing there looking into his glittery eyes, my mouth went dry, my tongue, paralyzed.
"By the way, we did great work last night! Everything worked out splendidly! Couldn't have been better." He paused, before adding, in a voice that was somehow more silky than smooth, "Your Executive Support," you could hear the capitals as he emphasized each syllable, "was stupendous."
Heaving a deep breath, I sputtered, "That's what I want to talk about." His outrageously warm smile rekindled my anger – and confusion. "You took advantage of me! That was not consensual!" A sad look partially obscured his smile, and he shook his head gravely. "You took me without my consent!" I reiterated, although even to me it was beginning to sound a bit lame.
"You asked what you could do, and I told you just what sort of Executive Support I needed." He shrugged, puzzled. "You gave it voluntarily. Willingly – eagerly, even." Looking up directly into my face, he raised an eyebrow. "You certainly seemed to enjoy it!" Shaking his head again, he muttered, "And I thought we worked so well together.
I stood there fuming – in my little golf skirt and top – hands on my hips, mouth flapping, no words coming out.
Speechless and frustrated, I shuffled about, trying to order my thoughts – hell, trying to form some sort of coherent thought – anything.
Finally, he broke the restless silence. "Look at you. Your nipples are probably rock hard."
My hands flew to my breasts, trying to cover, however futilely, my high-beams. My nipples were rock hard – rock hard and tingling.
"I'd be willing to bet that your cunt," I know I flinched at the use of the c-word, furthermore he was watching for my reaction. A brief smugness passed across his face, "is drooling right now."
My right hand dropped off my breast, heading, by its own volition for my crotch, to check on his assertion. I caught myself just in time. Ryerson nodded, knowingly.
"Okay," he said, sounding, once again, very businesslike, "I'm paying you for today, anyway. So let's say this: you allow me to verify the extent of your arousal, whether I'm right in thinking you're turned on or not, and I'll give you a double-time bonus." He paused to let it sink in. "Okay?" I was dumbfounded. He reached gently for my hand and drew me closer. "C'mere." And, as much as I tried to ignore it, a warm wave of anticipation swept through me.
My eyes were locked in his gaze. Predator / prey! Slowly his hand reached under my skirt and stroked the gusset of my panties. They weren't really panties, more utilitarian big whities – a kind of a jockey shorts cover-up under my short, little golf skirt. A random thought flitted resignedly, unbidden, across my mind. "They're hardly sexy." Suddenly I was aware of the breeze cooling my inflamed pussy, wafting through my dampened bush. I could feel my swollen labia, pressed against the soaked material of my underwear, then the insistent fingers, pulling and prodding, pushing the gusset aside to separate my lips. Shivers ran through me, head to toe. I thrilled to the slow touch as his fingers plowed my slick furrow, gathering my most intimate feminine dew, as they sought out my clitoris. A tingling, sparkling intensity fired up from my pussy to pulse and throb deep in my belly.
"Your nipples appear to be rock hard, although I think I'd need to feel them to be sure." Holding one hand still between my legs, he inserted his other hand beneath mine, cupping my clothed breast. Removing his hand from within my wet underwear, he said, matter-of-factly, "Take off your ginch, my dear, and have a seat," indicating his lap. As he momentarily withdrew his other hand I felt and strange emptiness, as if the fire glowing inside me was running low on fuel. Like an automaton, balancing myself with one hand on his shoulder, I reached down to pull my jockeys down, lifting my feet to yank them over my shoes and step out of them.
While I did that, the boss fumbled with his pants and released his impressive erection. No words were spoken as he gestured for me to straddle his knees and sit on his lap. I watched, objectively, as the surreal events unfolded. Oddly objective for an instant, I felt pleased that my little patch of bush – arrowing down at my slit – was neatly trimmed. One hand still on his shoulder, I reached for his cock, and held it as I lowered myself onto it. Smooth as silk, it slid in, deeper and deeper, its girth filling my channel. The sparkling glow of carnal excitement increased with my descent, as if it were connected to a rheostat. I felt like I was about to explode as his hardness filled me, and as it bumped the end of my vaginal passage, tapping against my cervix, fully engulfed, my puffy labia and engorged clitoris pushed through his pubic hair to smunch against his pubis. We became perfectly still.
It was a silent climax. I'm not sure he even knew. Unbelievable, fantastic sensations raced up and down my spine, clattering and clashing in my fundament, exploding in my head in waves of colour and light. My eyes, still fixed in his gaze, glazed. My mouth hung open. I could feel myself – my pussy – drooling. My cunt, as he called it, seemed to pulse and spasm – almost squirting, soaking his pubic beard with my juices. I didn't shake or shudder, or move at all, but inside I was experiencing the strangest, most wonderful orgasm ever!
As my eyes came back into focus, I think I smiled. Ryerson smiled back and started to lift my golf shirt. "Now let's see if those nipples are as hard as I think they are." Once my shirt was raised up under my chin, he deftly flipped my bra cups down exposing my, now swollen, heaving breasts. Immediately his fingers went to my nipples, verifying their arousal and hardness. "Ah," he sighed. "Just as I suspected!" He pinched them and rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers. Shockwaves coursed through my libido. "Well, they're certainly hard – I'd say pretty much fully aroused. Wouldn't you agree?" His eyes pierced my mind.
I nodded mutely, biting my lower lip to keep from moaning. "Yep," he continued, "Pretty damned turned on!" Giving my nipples a pull and a twist, that elicited a tiny gasp, he observed, "You're quite the little minx. Who would have thunk?"
As much as I tried to resist, his continued manipulation of my breasts, my tits, caused me to squirm – just a little – a slight waver of my torso, a tiny shudder of my hips. I was waiting for him to commence thrusting; but he didn't.
Virtually motionless, I sat up straight, impaled on his rampant erection, hands on his shoulders for balance. He, still, except for his hands at my breasts, flicking and twiddling my nipples. "Very perky," he whispered, so as not to upset the stillness. "They hardly need support. You could go braless no sweat. You should consider that." With that he grabbed my rolled shirt and began lifting. I lifted my arms automatically as he pulled it over my head and tossed it onto his desk.
All this time, his hair subtly brushing my lips and clit, the end of his penis rubbing and pushing at the end of my womb, felt like gamma-rays arcing and flashing from another dimension, building in intensity, trying to ignite some sort of nuclear device deep within me. I still waited.
"Oh," he squealed, like a little boy opening a gift, "I just love these front clasp bras!" He unsnapped the clip and began peeling the lingerie aside, fully exposing my boobs. "Ooooweeee!" He sounded seriously gleeful. Pulling the straps free of my arms, he dropped the bra then cupped and lifted each breast. "Perfect! They're perfect!" Curiously his assessment of my tits served only to heighten my agitation. I could feel the end of his cock searing my depths – increasingly.
Ryerson held still a moment, his eyes had let go their grip on mine, and were staring almost hungrily at my tits. Smoothly he leaned forward and caught a nipple with his tongue, sucking it fully into his mouth, swirling his tongue around my areola before letting go to change sides. His back and forth ministrations initiated an ignition sequence. Electrical pulses glittered back from my breasts to twist around my spine then bounce up and down, flashing colour and shape behind my eyes, while twinkling shimmers and sparks in my abdomen. I could stay still no longer.
I subtly unweighted my hips for a moment, then dropped, unweighted then dropped, rising no more than an inch, I was almost not fucking myself on his strong, proud prick. And each time I dropped, there were small detonations – one at the end of Ryerson's cock, where it touched the far wall of my twat, and one at the base of his cock, where it brushed my clitoris. On and on. Tiny, regular, repeated climaxes, which rolled together into a series of quiet crises. Stifling my cries, I squealed and whimpered into his hair, moving my hands from his shoulders to firmly hold his head about his ears, guiding his lips between my nipples.
He continued sucking and tweaking my nipples, left then right, back and forth – nipping my engorged buds with his teeth, flicking with his tongue – his fingers twiddling and pinching on one side as he sucked the entire areola of the other breast into his mouth, drawing tightening circles around the nub before pulling and stretching with his lips.
The subtle humping of my hips continued, as I fought to stay in control. I could feel my grip slipping, though. My arousal soared. My psyche pleaded for release – colours and sparks, glistening waves of electricity raced up and down my spine, hissing and snapping behind my eyes. No longer able to control the amplitude of my hips, my humping suddenly exploded in frenetic bouncing. My squeaks and squeals crescendoed into a keening yowl. The mini-orgasms gathered, like a train crash in slow motion – one car plowing into the next, the glorious sensations piling one upon the next, until a mind-blowing climax ripped through me. A tornado of energy, leaving no corner of my being untouched. Ecstasy upon ecstasy!
"Unh, unh, unh!" The heat in my pussy was almost unbearable, as flames licked the far reaches of my inner core. Pulling his head tight into my chest, I pounded myself against him, repeatedly, frantically. My vaginal muscles gripped him tight, as if hanging on for dear life. Pulling against his iron rod, refusing to let go, I could feel his weight pulling down on my pussy's walls as I tried to lift off him. Struggling to rise, I had to force myself deliberately to relax my grip, just for an instant, while I lifted slightly, drawing up until just his knob remained within. Then I plunged myself down, fully engulfing him – mashing my genitals against his pubis.
Impossibly, my climax continued to grow. The apex of the orgasm seemed to rise further and further. Bouncing brutally on his woodie, I began to shriek, "Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!" until it disarticulated into a guttural wail. And it kept going and going; and I kept on coming and coming – like the Everyready Bunny with his batteries in backwards! Exhilaration! The strongest orgasm ever – by orders of ten!
As I finally peaked, I became aware of my bosses member as it stiffened to an incredible rigidity, twitching and jerking. However improbably, I could feel his ejaculation! I could feel volley after volley of his cum splashing my cervix and sloshing within my pussy, before being squeezed out, with each successive thrust.
Then the plug was pulled, after a couple more half-hearted bounces, Ryerson's hips still rising to meet my pushes, my body coasted to a stop. Chests heaving, breath ragged, we were, otherwise, still – except for his lips, still sucking gently on my nipple. And I floated away in a kind of post-orgasmic euphoria.
Was it really ages that we sat there – me straddling his knees, my back to his work station – before he began to lift me off, and extricate himself from beneath. My awareness returned slowly, and I found myself leaning back against the edge of his desk as he eased himself out of my reach. I felt I was surfacing from a dream – and, suddenly, I felt not just a little silly, standing there naked but for my shoes and socks. Somewhere along the way I had shed my skirt as well.
I could feel my boss watching me, so I turned to watch him as he smiled at me, using a tissue to wipe ineffectively the front of his pants. When he saw me looking, his smile grew. "Now that was what I call 'Executive Support!' Wow! I'd say you've taken to this like a duck to water!" I nodded, not sure if I was agreeing or just acknowledging his rather back-handed compliment. I gathered skirt, top, and underwear without taking my eyes off my boss. His Cheshire Cat grin was beguiling. Silently, I donned my clothes, and straightened myself to leave – dazed but eminently satisfied. As I reached the door of his office he casually remarked, "Maybe next time you'll let me tap your ass." I froze, and turned to stare at him for a long moment, mute. I didn't think anything would surprise me after all that had just happened, but, for some reason, that caught me off guard. He cocked his head and gave me a mischievous grin while rearranging his pants and pulling up his fly, then he turned back to his desk.
And here I am, in the car, almost home, asking myself, again, "So, Genelise Petra Lavalle; now what?" Surprisingly, shockingly, the answer comes quickly, and, really, without histrionics; if I'm going to be a good – no, make that a great Personal Assistant, I'll need to provide peerless personal assistance and superior executive support. An almost inappropriate calmness envelops me, soothing the turmoil in my mind. "My ass...," I muse, objectively. "He wants to, uh, sample my ass." Somehow, I am already pulling into the driveway at home, having arrived unscathed. "I'll have to try my vibrator up the poop-chute – just to get it used to it." Gathering my golf clubs, my thoughts oddly seem to be the most normal thing in the world. "I'll need to get a bigger dildo, to really make myself ready." Unlocking the back door, I hear myself saying aloud, "This is so exciting!" and suddenly I can't stop grinning.
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