I sat at my desk, in my tiny cubicle, on a typical Tuesday morning,
clicking away on my computer. As I edited the spreadsheet in front of
me, my mind drifted to my boss, just down the hall, in his large office.
He was a heavier man, with short dark hair. I found him oddly handsome.
His chocolate brown eyes glared out under dark thick lashes, and even
thicker eyebrows. That's how he looked—he glared. It wasn't easy to find
him in a friendly mood. Not that he was rude. He was just . . .
intense. Besides, I rationalized to myself, he kept a professional
distance. He just didn't like to show his emotions. It made him all the
more attractive.
To be honest, I was still trying to figure him out. I had only been his
secretary—sorry, I mean "administrative assistant"—for a little over a
month now, and I had a hard time working for him. It took me less than a
week to figure out that he despises small talk. Any excessive talking
or niceties at all were pretty much useless in his eyes. He also didn't
respond to flattery at all. It just made me uncomfortable, because I
couldn't read him, or figure out if my work was pleasing him. So here I
sat, going above and beyond to impress my boss who hardly noticed me at
all.
I even started worrying more about my appearance. Usually, I had no
problem working with men. Men were supposed to be easy. They were
supposed to be easily flattered that a pretty woman was impressed by
them. Or willing to do what I asked when I said it with a smile and a
flutter of the eyelashes. I worried that my looks weren't helping me as
much as they usually did. So, every morning for the last two and a half
weeks, I woke up an extra 45 minutes early to curl my long dark blonde
hair, and apply makeup to compliment my green eyes and fair skin. I even
applied lipstick every day—something I had always refused to wear.
I went shopping to update my wardrobe with cute matching business skirt
suits, and silk blouses that draped nicely across my breasts, and
stockings. I was tempted to buy more heels, but I already had a nice
collection, and had gone a bit overboard on the skirts. It was a
struggle to find them in a tasteful length, so some were a bit short for
the office, only coming down to mid-thigh.
I was wearing one of those today, in charcoal grey, with a matching
blazer, which was draped across the back of my chair, and a deep purple
blouse that made me green eyes pop. I forwent the stockings today,
because the tops would have shown and looked slutty with my skirt. I
also wasn't wearing panties today because I was behind on laundry and
didn't buy any new ones on my shopping expedition. I kept tugging at my
skirt, especially when I was sitting, to make sure I wouldn't flash
anyone walking by my cubicle.
I glanced at my clock. 10:48. I only had 12 minutes until my daily
meeting with my boss. I quickly finalized my report, and sent it to the
printer. I stood and smoothed down my skirt and sauntered over to the
printer in the middle of the large office. I could feel some of the
men's eyes on me as I walked over to get my papers. Conscious of their
gaze, I stood tall with my shoulders back and chest out, and added a bit
of a sway to my hips. I smiled and made eye contact with a few on my
way. It felt like victory when each of them gave a tight smile back, and
shifted nervously. They all quickly looked back down at their work like
it was the most compelling job they ever had. Making men nervous was
always great fun.
After I collected the papers off the printer into a folder, I returned
to my desk with five minutes left before my meeting. I could feel myself
growing nervous. We met everyday, and everyday, he made me nervous. I
would walk to his door, a confident woman, and as soon as I took a
single step inside, I felt like a vulnerable little girl. He was always
very commanding and he would hardly look at me. I'd stutter through my
report and feel like a failure when he dismissed me. All I wanted was to
impress him. For him to think I was valuable, and useful. Just sitting
at my desk, I could feel my heart beat faster and my hands clam up a
bit. I was going to make him take notice today. I would speak clearly,
concisely, and assertively. I practiced my little summary in my head,
for when he asked.
I stood with a minute to go, and walked tall down the narrow hall to the
thick wooden door. I knocked three times, a bit quieter than I had
intended. When he bade me entrance, I turned the knob and walked a few
steps in.
"Shut the door." I closed it, then turned back to him. He was staring
intently at his computer screen. As I watched him, my heart skipped a
beat. He really was so handsome. And powerful. I walked on shaky legs to
stand by the low leather chair in front of his desk.
"Sit." I quickly obeyed, remembering to adjust my skirt so that I didn't
flash him my naked cunt. Now that I thought about it, I felt so
exposed. I could feel the cold air on me, and realized that I was really
wet. It was something I couldn't explain. It had happened before, when
he ordered me around like this. I chose to ignore it. But it was hard.
Great day to not wear panties, I sarcastically thought. I just hoped
that I didn't make a spot on my skirt. I already felt indecent enough.
I was sitting there, waiting, calming myself down, for about two minutes
before he finally turned to me. Our eyes met, and for the tiniest
second, I thought I saw something in his. A quick flash of something.
Dangerous-like. Maybe he knows, I thought. Maybe he knows that he makes
me nervous. Or worse, he knows that I'm sitting here, without any
panties on, and a wet pussy, like a slut. The thought made me blush and I
quickly broke eye contact to stare at the floor.
"So, Miss Craig, what do you have for me this morning?" he looked at me, noticeably bored with the whole routine.
"T-the typical, s-sir. Nothing interesting today. The numbers are a
little off, but it looks like nothing." I blushed again. Damn it! I
stuttered. I wasn't going to stutter! It was that damned question that
threw me off. It had me thinking of other things I could offer him this
morning. Things that might interest him a bit more. I shook my head
slightly, to clear my head.
He stood up from his large chair and quietly walked around the large
wooden desk, his fingers gliding gently behind him. He came to stand at
my right. I was hesitant to meet his gaze again and kept my eyes down. I
looked over to find his crotch exactly level with my shoulders, because
the chair was so low. I noticed a slight bulge in his pants, and my
breath hitched a bit. I could see the edge of the head defined against
his grey slacks. I quickly tried to convince myself that he wasn't
standing in front of me with a hard on—that's ridiculous. He just must
be a bit . . . larger, than I was familiar with. I looked up at his
face, tilting my head because he was standing so close, and I saw the
recognition in his eyes. I had stared too long! He looked amused. I
could feel my face burn with embarrassment, the blush spreading down my
chest.
"Stand," he commanded. I did, quickly. So quickly, that I spilled my
papers across the floor in front of me and pushed my chair noisily back.
I chanced another glance at him and found him . . . smiling? He was
close. So close I could feel his breath on the my cheek. I raised my
eyes from his lips to his stare. That dangerous look was there. Plain as
day. He made no attempt to hide the hunger in his eyes. I could see
that he wanted me. His eyes told me how he wanted to take and devour
every inch of my body, leaving me sore and broken. Electric heat ran
through my body. My face upturned, I let my eyes flutter closed.
But then, he walked away. He just walked away, leaving me standing there
stupidly. I felt so shamed and rejected. He took his seat again, and
acted like nothing happened. My shoulders drooped, head dropped, and
knees buckled slightly. I was an idiot. He is my boss, and now he was
sure as day going to fire me! He interrupted my internal monologue with a
sharp order.
"Come to the edge of my desk, Miss Craig." My feet made the short steps
quickly, kicking the papers I had spilled just a minute earlier. I felt
the wooden edge of his desk against the front of my hips. I stood there.
Waiting. Praying he would forgive me, or forget that I had just acted
like a complete fool. He adjusted himself in his chair and went back to
his typing.
Dismissively, he said, "Well, I presume you want more than to just stand
there looking desperately horny. Remove your shirt. It will help with
the heat." My jaw dropped, and heat rushed to my cunt. I should have
turned a heel and marched out of his office right then, like any sane
woman. But my fingers flew to the buttons of my blouse. I undid them
with trembling hands and laid my shirt on the desk. Then I stood there,
in front of my boss, in a bra, skirt, and heels. My pussy was absolutely
aching. And yet, he sat there, still typing, eyes still glued to his
screen. Was this a big joke? Or did he think I wasn't worth looking at? I
just wanted him to look at me, to like what he saw.
"Reach over here and free my cock before it explodes." He kept typing. Was he serious? I needed to get out of here, fast.
"Now." This time, he looked at me. And his impatience was unmistakable. I
started around the desk, to go to his chair. He stood before I took two
steps, reached across, grabbed my hair in a fist, and forcefully
slammed me down against the desk. He lowered his mouth to my ear. His
breath was hot.
"I said reach, Miss Craig. Do not disobey me again, or the entire office
will see you for what you are." This was my cue to leave. He was
psycho, obviously. His hand was still painfully tangled in my hair, I
was bent uncomfortably over the desk, but my body didn't listen to my
logic. It was as if electricity coursed through my veins, all headed for
my bare cunt. My inner thighs had grown slippery from my arousal, and I
was acutely aware of the fact as I bent over with my skirt riding up. I
listened to my body, and let the logic slip away.
I reached my right arm up to awkwardly unbutton and unzip his pants, his
crotch level with my face, his grip tight in my hair. I pushed his
slacks down as much as I could and finally manage to pull his cock out
so that it unintentionally hit me in the face. Holy shit, I thought, it
was huge. I had only been with four men in my life, and none of them
measured up. I only had a second to appreciate his massive member before
he forced it into my mouth and against the back of my throat.
I immediately gagged, and heard him give a small groan. He pulled out a
bit, then pushed right back in, pulling me by my hair further onto his
cock. I felt something give in the back of my throat, and he filled me
up. He held me there, gagging. I could feel my eyes water and widen.
What if he didn't let up? I brought my hand up to push against him. He
pulled out of my throat, and I gasped for air. Then he took his other
hand and put my arm behind my back.
"You will not touch me again," he instructed. And I didn't dare. He took
my mouth again, this time pumping in and out. Fucking my mouth. Fucking
my reluctant throat. I gagged and gasped and choked. I tried not to,
but I couldn't help it. He barely let me breathe. And then, I felt him
push deep again, and his enormous cock pulsed against my tongue, as he
let out a strangled groan. Again, I started to panic, with his huge cock
cutting off my air supply, and my gag reflex kicking in. I could feel
his hot cum in my throat, and I had no choice but to accept it. Finally,
when I was about to disobey him, and push him away, he pulled out of
me, but with firm instructions: "Swallow it, Miss Craig."
I swallowed, and gasped, and swallowed again. His cum was sticky, and it
lingered in the back of my throat as I choked for a decent breath of
air. I put both of my palms against his desk to steady myself now that
he released my hair from his grasp. I watched as he pulled his underwear
and slacks back over his still hard cock and zipped up. He looked at me
for a second. His expression was a mixture of amusement and smug
satisfaction.
"You may collect yourself and go now. Miss Craig, do not forget to
maintain a professional look in my office at all times." With that, he
regained his seat and returned to his work. In silent disbelief I pushed
myself back up to standing, on shaky legs. My back was stiff from being
bent over. My chest heaved as I struggled for normal breathing. I kept
my teary eyes downcast as I put my shirt back on and smoothed down my
hair. I got to my knees to gather up all my useless papers. I stood, and
hesitated, daring to look at my boss, who had just bent me over his
desk and fucked my throat like it was a normal occurrence. I turned
slowly on my heel and made for the door, taking careful steps.
"Miss Craig," my ears perked up and I turned eagerly to him. "Do not
bother to wear underwear tomorrow. I would hate to destroy any of your
clothing. And please be prompt for our 11 o'clock meeting." With that, I
was dismissed.