Cream This Thick Ch. 01

Michelle took a deep breath: "Moooooooooo."

"Like you mean it," said Mrs. Wasserman.

"What?" asked Michelle, her cheeks turning an impossibly bright red.

Mrs. Wasserman sighed and looked up from her work, glaring at Michelle. "Moo like you mean it. That didn't sound like a cow at all."

Michelle clenched her fists, but again her anger became embarrassment, and her embarrassment became shame. But this time, her shame become something else. She felt the heat on her cheeks and neck lower itself, running down her body, over her breasts, over her stomach, and to her crotch. She felt her thighs and breasts warm and tingle as the younger woman held her gaze. There was such contempt in her eyes, such disappointment. But more than that, Michelle saw how easily Mrs. Wasserman wielded power. She saw her entitlement, her expectations for those beneath her. And for the first time in Michelle's life, she felt pleasure at being beneath another.

"Mooooo," said Michelle again, this time more enthusiastically. She lowered her voice, widened her throat, kept her lips tight, and made a persuasive cow impersonation.

"Good girl," said Mrs. Wasserman. "You may have your milk. Just make sure the report is on my desk by ten."

Michelle quickly exited the office but felt an unusual warmth and wetness around her crotch. She kept her thighs tight, feeling the pressure build as her legs slid against each other, teasing her pussy all the way to the kitchen. It was a distraction while she made the coffee, and she ruined the first batch before she even added the milk and had to make another. She wondered if anyone heard her moo. She wondered what they would think. Would they recognize it as her voice? What would they think of the grown woman mooing for a woman half her age?

Michelle didn't wait to get back to her desk to drink her coffee. She paced, blowing on it while waiting for it to be cool enough to drink. When it felt safe, she took a long sip. Pleasure rolled through her body, dancing over her lips, down her tongue, through her throat, deep into her belly, and deeper to her pussy. She had heard women jokingly refer to some chocolates as orgasmic. They clearly had never had this coffee. Michelle had to put the cup down and hold onto the counter as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her body. Her thighs quivered and her knees buckled, but she bit her lips to keep herself from moaning... or mooing.

When she had composed herself, she finished the coffee as quickly as possible. She wanted to savor it, but she could try that again with the next cup because, of course, there was going to be a next cup. She wished she had a change of panties but decided she wouldn't have time to change anyways. She had twenty minutes to write her report.

As she began working, her mind effortlessly and comfortably began to wander. They landed on Eloise Wasserman. Michelle couldn't forget the look on her face, the look of amusement and disappointment. The look of condescension and arrogance. The look of beauty and power. It was how she imagined ancient gods to look from literature. In a way, it hurt to look at them, but that wasn't their fault. It was your fault for being pathetic, for being beneath them. It was your fault for not having a useful skill or career to fall back on. It was your fault for not being brilliant or persuasive. It was your fault that you served and she ruled. She belonged in her spot, and you belonged in your spot.

Michelle felt the pressure build up again between her legs as she went to turn in the report, but Mrs. Wasserman's pleased expression put her over the top. She knew she needed to cum, again, but there were more reports to be done. Mrs. Wasserman had an appointment every half-hour for the rest of the day and two lunch meetings. Michelle didn't have time to waste.

Luckily, the coffee worked perfectly. Michelle wasted no time. She was pleasant to each person that came in. She waited on them, getting them water or making them tea or coffee. Each time she went into the kitchen, she eyed the milk in the refrigerator. It was halfway gone already. Michelle would have to find out where her boss got it and get it straight from the source in the future.

It wasn't until around noon that she felt her mind wandering in a bad way. She started to wonder about the implications of the morning. Did Mrs. Wasserman know she was turning Michelle on? Did she want to turn Michelle on? Is that what this was about? Some power trip to get Mrs. Wasserman off? And what did it mean if it got Michelle off as well? What did it mean that a young lesbian was turning Michelle on? Michelle had never thought about a woman that way before, she barely thought about her that way now, but she couldn't help but wonder...

Michelle's productivity plummeted. She spaced out and forgot the names of the next three appointments. She spilled water on a client. It was a mess. She needed more coffee, and that meant she needed more milk. That meant she needed to talk to Mrs. Wasserman.

Her boss hated being interrupted. If Michelle needed to speak with her, she would buzz her on the intercom, and if it was a good time to talk, Mrs. Wasserman would buzz back. Michelle had buzzed three times, waiting fifteen to twenty minutes between each buzz, but there was nothing. It had been an hour, and she needed her coffee. She was desperate, and there was no time to waste.

She took a deep breath and knocked on her boss' door.

"Yes?" asked Mrs. Wasserman.

Michelle cracked the door and peeked in. "May I ask you a question?"

"Is it an emergency?"

Michelle nodded vigorously.

"Come in."

Michelle scampered to Mrs. Wasserman's side and bent down, whispering in her ear: "May I have some more coffee with milk, please?"

"What?" snapped Mrs. Wasserman, loudly, drawing the attention of her client, a middle-aged man whose face reminded Michelle of her husband. "You interrupt me for that?"

Michelle blushed. "I know it's inconvenient," she whispered, "but I've been trying to get your attention for almost an hour to ask you."

Mrs. Wasserman smirked. "Is that how you ask?"

"What?"

"We discussed it this morning. How do you ask?"

Michelle blushed deeper, her face a dark scarlet. She leaned down and whispered, "moo," as softly as she could.

"What?" asked Mrs. Wasserman. "I couldn't hear you. Could you speak up?"

Michelle looked back at Mrs. Wasserman's guest. He was looking at his phone, checking the time. Michelle took in a deep breath and --

"Don't forget," added Mrs. Wasserman. "Like you mean it."

Michelle looked back at her boss' client. He was bored. She had to hurry.

She took a deep breath, and like she had done it earlier that day: "Mooooooo." It was convincing, though it cracked a little when the other gentleman looked up from his phone in shock at her.

Mrs. Wasserman laughed, and as she laughed, and as Michelle felt the man's eyes burn into her with his surprise that was quickly becoming disgust, she wanted to run. She wanted to quit her job at once and never return. She wanted to smack the beautiful woman as she laughed at her. She wanted so many things, but more than all of them, she felt the overwhelming need to cum.

"Yes, Michelle. You may have some milk."

Michelle immediately turned and scurried out of the office. She didn't pay attention to anything anyone said as she left. She had to go. She had embarrassed herself for a reason, and now it was time to collect.

But as she moved closer to the kitchen, she found herself move right past it. She wasted no time, getting to the bathroom and finding the first stall she could. Before the door was even latched, her panties were around her ankles, and she was on the toilet, running her fingers over her pussy, over her clit, while she bit her lips to keep control of the urge to moan... to moo.

As she touched herself, she tried to think of James. She tried to think of decades of sex with her husband. When that didn't work, she thought of the milk. She thought of the way it made her feel to drink it this morning as she gripped the countertop.

When that didn't work, she thought of Eloise Wasserman. She thought of her beautiful suits, her tight skirts, her sharp heels. She thought of her slender neck and pale skin. She thought of her dark eyes and darker hair. She thought of the woman that was her boss, the woman who could now destroy her with a word.

And when that didn't work, she thought of the sound of Mrs. Wasserman's laughter as Michelle mooed for her. She thought of that perfect sound, and she came.