Camilla Ch. 056byMawrGorshin©
On Tuesday morning at 8:20, Camilla was in the washroom of the office where she'd soon begin her first day as Mr. Miles Holland's personal secretary. In a tight-fitting brown wool-knit dress with the front zipper down to show off her bra-less cleavage, she was looking at herself in the mirror, carefully assessing her sexiness. In her usual whore-bright makeup with dark red lipstick, she repeatedly bent down and a bit to the side, to see how much tit was showing. She wanted to make sure her new boss would see as much breast as possible while--always the tease--not showing nipple; if a bit of areola was showing, that would be fine.
As she looked herself over, she thought about the night before, and what Candice had told her about her recent excesses. Camilla agreed that her behaviour was becoming a problem: she was using too much Nigrovum for her own good, and it was affecting her mental health. Though Candice that night had been high on heroin (all alert in the cab, but too drowsy in their bedroom to make love), Camilla had been high on Nigrovum-induced megalomania; in her alert moment in the cab, Candice had begged Camilla to stop using psychic mind control--at least for a while. Camilla promised to stop; she figured she wouldn't need it on Mr. Holland anymore anyway, since her body would be enough to make him want her.
On the other hand, perhaps to use or not to use Nigrovum would make little difference; since her dreams were Nigrovum-influenced (as were those of Candice, who'd had a vivid wet dream that night about Jasmine licking her pussy, a dream that even her heroin high hadn't stopped), it was apparent to both girls that even when they weren't using their psychic power consciously, they were often using it unconsciously. Camilla reasoned that she must have unconsciously used it on all those teachers, who surely would have been sensible enough to resist her charms without Nigrovum's aid: how else could she have got five well-respected high school teachers to gang-bang her in an old abandoned building?
She checked her watch: it was 8:31, and her boss presumably had arrived, or would arrive any second. Satisfied with how she looked, she whispered 'corporate whore' to herself and left the washroom.
When she went into Mr. Holland's office, he was sitting at his desk. Looking up and seeing how her sexy dress showed off her curves and cleavage, he was already getting a hard-on...with no need for Nigrovum. "Oh, good morning, Camilla," he said with a smile. "Are you ready to start?"
"Yep," she said with a grin. "Where's my desk?"
"Right over tree, in that corner," he said, pointing to it, to her left as she'd come into the office. "I had it moved in here so we could be closer together as we work, so I can teach you your job better."
"Good idea," she said, knowing his real reason for having them work together in private. "Shall I get you a cup of coffee, sir?"
"Oh, you don't have to do that. It's not your job, sweetie."
"I don't mind. How do you take it?"
"Uh, double-double. The coffee-maker's just outside my office, to the right."
"OK," she said. "Be right back." She went out.
"Damn, girl," he said to himself. "You're driving me wild. If my wife finds out about you, I'm sure to get pounded on the head with pots and pans."
As she made his coffee, she tried to ignore the looks she was getting from her gossipy colleagues.
"Mrs. Holland comes here every day around lunchtime," a frowning woman standing nearby whispered to Camilla. "Watch yourself around 12:30; she has a nasty temper."
Camilla now frowned at those words, making the coffee as quickly as she could to get away from the judgemental stares she was getting. No sooner, however, did she open her boss's office door and walk in had that frown turned into a smile. She closed the door and locked it.
"Here you are, sir," she said with a grin as she put the mug on his desk.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he said, comfortable knowing she didn't mind him calling her names like that. Getting bolder, he looked her up and down and said, "That's a very nice dress you're wearing."
"Why, thank you, sir," she said with an ear-to-ear grin and a giggle, turning around slowly so he could see all of her. "I bought it yesterday, looking for things to wear for you in the office."
"Good girl," he said, still ogling her. "You keep buying clothes like that; I like 'em. They look good on you."
"That's very sweet of you to say. You're my boss, so I must make sure I please you. Speaking of pleasing you, what do you want me to do now?"
"Well, I want to show you an e-mail I just received: if you type a reply for me, I can see how well you can use a keyboard, and I'll be free to do other things when I know you can do this stuff automatically. Grab a chair and sit next to me."
"Why don't I just sit here, sir?" she asked, gliding her stuck-out ass down onto his pointy lap and sliding her buttocks on it briefly to get...comfortable.
"Uh, baby, what if someone walks in?" he asked.
"Don't worry, Mr. Holland; I locked the door when I came in with your coffee," she said, grinding some more on his cock.
"Oh, good," he grunted. "Anyway...uh, read the e-mail."
"OK," she said matter-of-factly, as though she had no idea she was turning him on. After a half-minute of reading the three long paragraphs of the e-mail and bouncing slightly on his erection, she then leaned back and rested her back against his chest, looking doe-eyed back at him. Letting him enjoy breathing in her aphrodisiac perfume, she said, "OK, I've read it; what d'you want me to say in your answer?"
"Oh, uh...tell Mr. Murdoch...we're sorry about...the malfunction...we'll do an...analysis of what...went wrong, and ensure...it doesn't happen again." The tip of his cock was poking through his pants and against her moist vulva.
Someone knocked on the door. "Miles?" the knocker said.
"Sue? Just a minute," he said. Then to Camilla he whispered, "I'll print out the e-mail; you type the reply at your computer. Hurry, get to your desk."
"Yes, sir," she said, then got up, pushing and rubbing her buttocks up against his belly and chest. She swayed her ass as she walked to her desk.
Trying to open the door, Sue said, "Miles, why is the door locked?" (She knew why: she was the gossip who warned Camilla about Mrs. Holland.)
"It's locked?" he said, getting up after clicking print on his computer. "I don't know why it is. Is your report ready?" It was...hard...for him to walk to the door, of course.
"Yeah," Sue said. Mr. Holland opened the door, took the report, and closed and locked the door again. "He locked the door again," she whispered as she walked away. "I knew it; he and that slut must be having fun in there. He'd better hope the Mrs. doesn't find out; if she does, we may see black and blue on his face this time."
He gave Camilla a print-out of the e-mail, then returned to his desk to answer a call on the phone. By the time he'd finished on the phone, she'd typed up the reply on her computer. "I've finished typing what you wanna say, sir," she said. "Wanna see?"
He got up and went over to look on her monitor; but he found it difficult taking his eyes off her cleavage, a perfect image for a down-blouse photo. She looked up at him as though she didn't even know he was staring at her tits.
"How does this look, sir?" she asked with 'innocent' wide-open eyes.
"Sensational," he grunted, not at all looking at what she'd typed.
"Sir," she whined in a playfully admonishing tone. "I meant my e-mail."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Camilla." He quickly glanced at it, then looked back at her. "It's fine. Send it."
"OK," she said in a sing song voice, then sent the e-mail.
"I promise to behave myself," he said in embarrassment at having been caught leering. "I gotta remember my wife. Sorry."
"That's OK, sir." She got up and looked up into his eyes with a suggestive grin. "I'm very flattered that you like my tits."
"Uh,..." he said, then chuckled in embarrassment. "I guess I should show you what else you need to do."
"OK," she said, following him back to his desk. He sat down, and she put her knee on his chair, between his legs, and gently pressed her knee against his erection. She brought her breasts up close to his face. "What's next?"
"Well, uh,..." he stammered, counting the goose-bumps on her cleavage, which was millimetres away from his face. "We keep all...the reports...like the one Sue...just gave me...in the filing cabinet...over there." He pointed to his right, where it was against the wall near her desk.
She turned to look to her left to see the filing cabinet, brushing her right breast against his face. His mouth and nose were now in contact with her skin, the bared portion of her breast. His face pushed in against her tit's softness. "OK," she said, still pretending nothing sexual was happening. "In which drawer do you want me to put this report?"
"Uh, in a minute, honey," he moaned. "I need...to show you...some other stuff." She straightened up and looked down at him. "Other important...documents are put...in the filing cabinet...over there." He pointed to his left.
She turned to look that way as she had before; now her left breast pushed against his face. He fought the temptation to kiss that goose-bumped skin he felt pushing against his lips and nose. He thought, is this girl just a slut, or is she some kind of feminist mole, tempting me to hit on her so she can hit me with an accusation of sexual harassment?
"Now," he panted, breathing against her tit. "You put...that report in...the top left drawer...under 'technical issues'...at the front...where the most recent reports...are filed. Put it away now."
"Yes, sir," she said with gleeful obedience, straightening up and slapping her wiggling breasts against his cheeks as she got up from kneeling on his chair. She took Sue's report, which was several unstapled papers in a folder, and turned around to walk over to the filing cabinet; but she deliberately let the papers fall out of the folder and onto the floor. "Oops, silly me." She bent over to pick them up.
Her ass was now in his face; he felt the soft wool-knit texture of her tight dress rubbing against his nose and mouth. He was tempted to nibble on the material. Only that thin wool and her panties separated his nose and mouth from her anal cleft, which shifted slightly from left to right as she swayed her ass. He breathed in heavily, smelling a slight faecal odour that he fetished when it came from callipygian beauties like Camilla.
He reached down to help her pick up the papers, pushing his face into her butt-crack. "Oh, that's OK, sir," she said as she, grinning and looking back at him, took her time picking up the papers. "You shouldn't help me; it's my job. But thanks, anyway." When she had all the papers back in the folder, she straightened up, swaying her ass left and right so he could feel both of her buttocks rub against his face. She put the folder in the filing cabinet and returned to him, always swaying her ass as she walked there and back. "What shall I do for you now, sir?"
"Please, sweetie, call me Miles," he insisted.
"Oh, Mr. Holland, that isn't right. You're my boss. I shouldn't speak to you as an equal."
"Whatever you say, cupcake," he said. Then, remembering his worries about sexual harassment litigation, he asked, "You don't mind my calling you affectionate names like that, do you?"
"It's OK," she said with a sexy grin. "As long as I'm a cherry cupcake." She then lewdly giggled.
"You sure are. Get a chair, baby, and a pen and a notepad from your desk. I need you to jot some things down."
"Yes, sir," she said, and after getting those things, she put her chair beside his, facing him. As she jotted down the things he haltingly told her, she raised her right leg and put the heel of her shoe against the foot rest of her chair; doing this, with her legs open several centimetres wide, she'd pushed up her dress to give him an up-skirt view of her white panties.
The whole time he slowly listed off all the things he wanted her to write down, he never took his eyes away from her exposed panties. Fully aware he was looking, she kept her smiling to a minimum and quietly jotted down everything he said, all the time allowing him to look, and even widening her legs a bit to increase his viewing pleasure. He knew she knew he was looking, and he could only appreciate her indulgence.
The rest of the working day was pretty much more of the same, to his astonishment and delight. Fearing his wife, though, he didn't dare press his luck.
In bed at her new apartment that night, Candice was high on heroin again, her only way to combat her loneliness from missing Camilla.
After work, Camilla had gone over to Club Ritz to see Candice, who was about to start work. Candice gave Camilla some ecstasy pills she'd got from her new dope connection, and she asked Camilla if she could come over to Agape's home that night. Camilla said no, because she needed to test her father's reaction to the ecstasy: would it make him sick? Only when she was sure that the--she hoped--careful, moderate use of these harder drugs wouldn't have too harmful an effect on him, and if they sufficiently weakened his resistance to Candice's use of Nigrovum, could Candice then come over and seduce Camilla's dad.
Camilla promised Candice she wouldn't have to wait too long; within a week, Candice could come over--maybe even as early as Wednesday or Thursday night.
For Candice, though, the waiting of even just one night felt like eons.
After another night of drinking and smoking grass with Agape (as well as surreptitiously dropping a half pill of ecstasy in one of his glasses of bourbon), Camilla took her dad up to bed, stripped him down to his underwear, and lay him on his bed to sleep. She wanted to lay next to him in bed, but fearing to develop those unnatural feelings for him again, she did something she hadn't done in a long time: she put on a nightgown, and kept her panties on.
He was so wasted then, at 5 AM, that as he slowly went to sleep from coming down from the E, he hardly noticed her wrap her arms around him and psychically give him an erection, to test his reaction and see if he'd resist. Only if he didn't resist could Candice come over and seduce him. Luckily for the girls, he was too wasted and tired to resist Camilla's affections, but he didn't touch her at all in a sexual way. He simply fell asleep in her arms, and dreamt about making love with Carrie, then with black-haired Candice again; the change Camilla had made in his dream wasn't resisted. It seemed OK to have Candice come over, though Camilla wanted to experiment with this a few more times just to make sure.
As she 'innocently' hugged her father, she repeatedly whispered, "I love you, Daddy, you sweet man." Again, she was convinced he'd never lust after her, no matter how tempting a scenario she'd created for him, and no matter how wasted he was, even to the point of not knowing what--or who--he was doing. You are such a good man, she thought. Indeed, his virtue made her love him all the more, yet her feelings for him scared her all the more, too.
Mr. Holland arrived in his office at 11:04 AM the next day, and getting bolder and bolder, he greeted Camilla with a gentle pat on her buttocks. She responded to his touch by pushing out her behind so his hand could feel it all the more, and she said with an ear-to-ear grin, "Oh, good morning, sir! How are you today?"
"I'm doing great," he said as he went over to his desk. "What's up with you, pussycat?"
"Oh, everything's great here, Mr. Holland. I guess your wife will be here soon, eh?"
"Yes, she will; and I'll be waiting for her with the usual sense of exhaustion and dread." Camilla wondered if she would ever hear anything good about his wife.
Mrs. Holland arrived at the office unusually early, and Camilla got a chance to see her for the first time (she'd gone out to a restaurant for lunch with Candice the day before, and missed the wife's visit then). Hoping Mrs. Holland wouldn't suspect anything about her husband with his sexy new secretary, Camilla had buttoned up her sleeveless purple dress just in time before the wife suddenly came barging into his office. Camilla was also lucky to have been sitting at her desk working, instead of at his desk working on him.
Mrs. Holland was a plain-looking and over-weight woman in her early forties; she was also a terrible nag, even rather verbally abusive, in Camilla's opinion. His wife often spoke derisively of him while Camilla was there, insensitive of how her words made him, the boss, lose face in front of his new secretary. In her jealous suspicion of the relationship he had with his pretty new employee, Mrs. Holland felt perfectly justified in making her husband look foolish. It was obvious to Camilla that her boss wasn't in the happiest of marriages.
After Mrs. Holland left, Camilla and her boss talked while eating sandwiches for lunch together.
"You seem unhappy in your marriage, sir, if you don't mind my saying so," she said.
"It's that easy to see, eh?" he asked. "Actually, that what she's like at her nicest. To describe how she is at home, well...that's best left unsaid."
Camilla was troubled to see the rattled expression on his face when he said that. Softening the discussion a bit, she said, "I guess the romance has died out a bit, right? That's normal in a lot of marriages."
"The romance has died out a bit? That's putting it mildly. She used to be thinner; she used to be gentler."
Camilla started feeling genuine compassion for her poor boss, whom she correctly assumed to be a victim in some kind of abusive relationship. She decided to cheer him up by turning him on. She asked, "Boring in bed, I assume? If you don't mind my asking."
"Oh, she's dead in bed. Missionary position's too raunchy for her," he said, holding his head in his hands and shaking it. "Sex is only for her pleasure, if it ever happens."
"Does she ever perform fellatio on you?"
Shocked at the boldness of her question, yet also aroused by it, he said, "Only in my dreams."
"That isn't right," Camilla said. "If I were married, I'd blow my husband at least once a day."
"Really?" he asked, leaning forward. "What else would you do for your man?"
"Oh, lots of things," Camilla said unabashedly. "I'd let him do me anally, again every day at least. I'd let him come on any part of my body he liked, especially my face. I'd let him fuck my tits. I'd let him watch me on the toilet peeing; I'd even give him golden showers, if he was into it. All kinds of stuff; as long as it pleased him."
"I guess you've done all those things before, eh?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "All of 'em, lots of times. You should've seen me two nights ago, in Queen's Park. I let a guy ravish me there. He fucked my pussy, fucked my asshole, and I sucked his cock, letting him blow his load in my mouth. I swallowed all of his come. It was lots of fun."
"I'm sure it was," he moaned, getting a hard-on from all this dirty talk. He still couldn't believe his secretary was so willing, even eager, to speak so pornographically with her boss. "Come sit on my lap, sweetie. Lock the door."
"Yes, sir," she said, getting up and locking the door. When she came to sit on his lap, she lifted up her dress--which went down only half-way between her hips and knees--to reveal the ass of her pink lace panties.
"Those are very pretty panties," he said as he ogled them.
"Really?" she asked, keeping her dress up for his viewing pleasure. "Thank you." Then she turned around slowly with her dress still up so he could see her panties from all angles; she even got up on his desk and spread her legs wide open so he could see her panties between her legs. Again acting as though nothing sexual was going on, she added, "I bought them two days ago in a store in the Eaton's Centre."