Dipping Pens in Company Ink

The CFO flung himself forward, seizing a fistful of my hair while pressing his stern mouth against my soft lips. Cologne and cognac filled my senses as he shoved his tongue in and out of my mouth, dancing and twisting and tasting my insides. A swell of uncertainty sent shivers down my spine before I slowly started to melt and gave in to my temptations.

The more we kissed the harder he grew—I could feel his masculine member pressing against my tucked-in tummy. He pulled my head back so my fragile neck was fully exposed beneath his breath. He brandished his teeth and bit my nape, latching on and sucking hard, promising a red mark in his wake. A wail of delight escaped my lips as he moved his hands all over my body, soft silk sliding against strong hands, grabbing hold of my curves and caressing my breasts as he explored my whole body over.

Tipping the scales at 100 pounds, I proved no match for the fully-grown businessman. Letting go and giving in to our desires, I wrapped my legs around his torso as he bunched my dress up and breeched my underwear. He placed one hand against my mound while lowering me onto the lacquered table, helping adjust me—every bit of me—to his high standards.

"Are you ready?" the CFO growled over clinking belt buckles and troublesome trousers.

"Oh yes yes YES!" I pleaded and wailed, wriggling my body against the slippery surfaces of both the table and his upturned hand.

"I said, are you ready?"

"Oh yes I—"

"It's time to go! You're gonna be late!"

Wait, late?

Wait...what?!

I sat up suddenly in bed, breathing heavily and unblinking at the mid-morning rays jutting between faux wood blinds. The silhouette of my mother came to be as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The faint sound of an iPhone alarm could be heard underneath my pillowcase and that erotic dream.

Oh fuck me—I slept in... again!

Considering I was just hired a few months ago, I was in no position for habitual tardiness. And this would the third time this week that I was late for work! I'm never going to get a raise if I can't even show up on time!

But it's not my fault, I told myself as I hurried into receptionist attire. It's my boss's fault for being so damn sexy, I confided as I sped down the interstate. He's the one seducing ME in my dreams, I asserted while waiting for the office elevator. I'll just sneak to my desk and avoid the CFO and pretend that I—

Ohh fuck me, it's him.

"Good morning, Miss London," the CFO greeted after the elevator doors chimed open, raising his Movado-clad wrist while I sheepishly entered. "Oh, I beg your pardon; it's nearly afternoon."

"Hiiii Mr. Steel," I whimpered through clenched teeth and a forced smile. Despite upturned lips, my eyes were locked on the elevator floor, staring deeply at tile imperfections and grout lines, the two things furthest away from the CFO's glower. The heat from his eyes caused me to quiver, penetrating me in ways well beyond my wildest dreams.

Dare I say...I like this feeling even more?

"Fourth time this week," Mr. Steel sighed, a twinge of disappointment in his voice.

"Actually, it's only the third..." I pointed out before trailing off.

"Uh-hum?"

"...and I'm really sorry..."

"Uh-hem."

"...and I won't let it happen again..."

"The button, Miss London!" he insisted, almost a demand. "The office is on the fifteenth floor."

"O'coursethat's'kay!" I stupidly sputtered, slurring together a bunch of words like a high school senior at a college kegger. I could feel my cheeks fluster while I fumbled for the correct button. I don't know what it is about Mr. Steel, but whenever I'm around him, I get all tongue-tied and twisted, like an 18-year-old misfit that I am pretending NOT to be.

I start humming Pink Floyd on our ascent while straightening out my v-slit skirt. Sure, I'm only a receptionist, and Fridays are business casual, but I always try to dress my best since I want to move up in the company. Although being late—and getting caught by the boss—probably isn't the best way to do so...

Mr. Steel takes notice of me. I stop humming, not daring to look up as he stares me down. My legs tremble and my panties moisten with the thought of Mr. Steel reprimanding me. Again. The elevator halts and the doors ding open. He takes a breath—as if wanting to say something—but instead takes the first step forward and exits the ride; I start to say something too, but by the time I dismount, Mr. Steel is no where to be seen.

It was business as usual for a Friday. Answering emails, directing phone calls, smiling at visitors, distributing name tags. Nothing too challenging or too rewarding for that matter, except for that close encounter with Mr. Steel. Ohhh I know he's married. And has a high paying job. And probably a huge house in suburbia with a white picket fence and a golden retriever named Buddy.

But I don't care—Mr. Steel is so fucking hot and I would let him do anything to me!

"Want to cum?"

Wait, what?!

I remove my headset and look up over the counter; it's Mr. Steel's bright-eyed assistant, Blake.

"I said, did you want to come? A few of us are having lunch outside, and I saved a seat for—"

"Yeah sure, sounds great," I quickly replied, freeing myself of forbidden fantasies and whatever work duties I was supposedly doing. I was hardly hungry—I just had breakfast like 2 hours ago—but I didn't dare turn down a friendly gesture from the CFO's right-hand man. Because if anyone could put in a good word for me, it would be Blake.

While adjusting my skirt before standing up, I noticed Blake eyeing my slightly exposed apex—was he staring at my panties? Were they still wet from the elevator incident? I hid a smirk behind bit lips and straightened myself out; Blake blushed and quickly looked away.

Sure, Blake was kind of cute, and I suspected he had a crush on me from day one. He visits me constantly, sends me all kinds of emojis, and is quite hands-on no matter who's around. But, our company enforces a strict no-dating policy, and it's not worth me losing a job over some stupid office romance, no matter how cute he kinda is.

The weather was perfect for having lunch outside. Blue skies and low humidity paired nicely with sandwiches and sparkling water. Blake and I talk about him and his job and all that necessary small talk bullshit. Blake says I look like a princess; I say he looks like a frog. Blake says he's only 28, but the salt and pepper stubble on sideburns begs 30s. I call him an 'old man' and he says I'm 'just a baby.' You know, cute flirty stuff like that.

I try to steer the conversation towards Mr. Steel. As a touted introvert and habitually busy, Mr. Steel keeps mostly to himself. Even Blake, who has been his assistant for nearly 3 years now, didn't know much about the CFO's personal life beyond office borders.

Blake starts trailing off, but I wrangle him back.

"Why do you care so much about Mr. Steel?"

"Um-m-mm," I stammer, trying to think of something quick, "I'm trying to figure out how he became so successful, and how I could be better at my job, and how to get a raise..."

Bingo: Blake beams and can't help but brag. Blake's salary had just increased by $20,000, which was of course approved by the CFO, who is of course in charge of all financial affairs. Blake goes on and on about the new car he just bought courtesy of Mr. Steel's raise, some little 2-seater BMW roadster convertible-thing.

"Too bad there's no back seat," I slyly remark, biting my bottom lip as I ran a hand through my hair. Silky tresses encircled my fingers while I batted my eyelashes.

"I don't need a backseat, baby," Blake retorts, sitting up straight and puffing out his chest. "The ladies can't control themselves in the passenger seat!"

"Pfffft," I sputter, rolling my eyes.

"You don't believe me?"

I shook my head and mouthed an exaggerated 'no.'

"Come," Blake says, standing up and extending his hand. "My car's parked just around the building. I'll prove you wrong."

"I'd like to see you try!"

We make our way to his roadster. I climb in and my exposed thighs stick to his hot leather seats. He gets in and presses the ignition on. A blast of cold air hits my face while a Pandora radio ad blares. Blake is eagerly awaiting my thoughts about his beloved car—and I make a joke about it being an automatic.

"A girl like you can drive a stick?"

"Mmmhmm," I purr, pivoting sideways as my exposed thighs and ass squeal on the seat, "but a girl like can do a lot more than just DRIVE a stick..."

My fingertips brush against his slick black slacks. I could feel his thighs tighten in my presence. As my fingers dig in, Blake gasps aloud. I lean in, closer this time, wetting my lips amongst hot tension and cold a/c while whispering: "I want...I want..."

Blake gulps: "You want...what?"

I lower my head towards his trousers; I could feel warm heat pulling me in. I hold my breath as one hand makes its way towards Blake's gap. My fingertips fiddle the inseam of his pants, creeping their way around the curve of his thigh until I finally find the thing I had wanted...

"Cool lighter!"

Blake snatches the lighter I had found in the crease of his seat, letting out an aggravated sigh before rolling down the window to light up a cigarette.

"What's that taste like?" I ask, a total lie but not the whole truth either. Of course I've had a cigarette or a dozen; I even bought a pack on my 18th birthday just for the hell of it. I was never really a fan of the flavor but could see why people could get addicted to smoking. Like, no one drinks booze because they truly like the taste; the taste is just the flavor of the desired aftereffects.

And of course I've had a drink or two despite me being so young. I was just about to jack off a coworker in the public parking lot; I'm not pretending to be a saint!

Blake, still reeling from blueballs, forced a shrug and passed me the cig; I took a drag and pulled my head back, exhaling a cloud of smoke through nose and mouth. Mmmm, that's minty!

"I only smoke menthols," Blake confides, taking the cigarette back. "I don't understand how anyone, especially a chief financial officer with such a defined palate, could prefer the taste of regulars."

That tidbit of information catches my attention!

I press on, Blake reveals more: turns out, Mr. Steel sneaks out for a "secret smoke" precisely at 3:15 everyday, claiming nicotine "helps aid in digestion," but Blake—being an occasional smoker himself—knows the importance of a cigarette break, and couldn't care less about Mr. Steel's reason.

This only made me care more. Because if Mr. Steel likes to smoke, then I must smoke.

Blake and I part our ways, careful not to go inside at the same time, since we didn't want anyone to think something weird was going on between us two. Weird, because now that I think about it, it seems more suspicious that we didn't come back together... since we were having lunch amongst coworkers... and we did disappear to his car together...

Regardless!

The remaining hours of the afternoon dragged on slowly and painfully, picking up my phone every couple of minutes, eagerly awaiting the CFO's afternoon secret. I had the whole thing planned out: go down at 3:15, catch Mr. Steel smoking, share said smoke with him, swear to keep his smoking a secret...and then give him another secret with the back of my throat!

Oh fuck yes! It's going to be fucking glorious!

3:18 rolls around and I finally make it to the elevator; geeze, late again. I smack my glossy lips and adjust my cleavage and rocket out the gate as soon as the elevator reaches the ground floor. I go outside and around the building to the little garden gazebo where I see Mr. Steel standing, his back turned and his outstretched arm smoking. I fiddle around in my purse, ever more raucous as I approach his backside, replaying the plan again in my head on how I'm gonna give the CFO sloppy head.

Mr. Steel whirls around as I climb the gazebo's wooden stairs. Despite dark colored sunglasses, I can feel Mr. Steel watching me. Staring at me. Observing me.

Fuck me. I love that feeling.

We stand in silence save for purse rummaging. I mutter nonsensically while pretending to look for nonexistent cigarettes.

"Want one?"

Finally! He said it!

"Oh, really?" I retort as planned. "We could share one..."

He already had a cigarette pulled out and pointed towards me. I quickly improvise:

"Yes, please. Thank you, Mr. Steel."

He didn't respond.

I pressed on. "Could I...bum a light, too?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver zippo. He hands it to me, still silent, still smoking, still staring.

I thank him again; again, Mr. Steel doesn't respond. We both stand there for at least ten drags. Here I thought I had everything planned out...but nothing is going according to plan!

Finally, Mr. Steel exhales: "Are you...even old enough to smoke?"

"Of course, Mr. Steel," I affirm, wrapping my lips around a lipstick stained filter, "I'm actually almost nineteen."

"Christ..." he moaned, "you're only eighteen..."

I wriggled my body against his moans while my impure thoughts flourished: me being so young and Mr. Steel being so much older made the whole thing that much hotter!

I leapt at the chance:

"Eighteen's old enough to FUCK!"

That was all the permission he needed. Within an instant, Mr. Steel's trousers were undone and his engorged cock was free, precum already dribbling from the tip. I begin to lower my head but paused for a moment to look up at the CFO, his eyes wide in anticipation of a moistened mouth and ensuing orgasm. I smirk before pressing the flat of my tongue atop his mushroom head, savoring the salty wetness from his slit.

"Oh fuuuuck," Mr. Steel moans while I begin to lap and lick, "ohh fuck me, that's a good little girl...just like that...oh fuck..."

I wriggled my tongue down his throbbing shaft, leaving a trail of saliva across fleshy veins. I nuzzled my nose in his neatly trimmed pubes before curling my tongue around his aching, begging balls. But when I looked up from this provocative position, the CFO nearly lost it, grunting and cursing and holding my skull steady so he could regain his composure. I couldn't help but giggle before licking his shaft back up again, parting my lips to gently caress the head of his manhood. Moist, hot air cascaded down his dick before pushing my head forward while Mr. Steel thrust upward.

I nearly gagged when his cock hit the back of my throat. It surged and swelled inside my mouth amongst saliva and semen. The CFO was ready to cum and I was eager to swallow his load.

"Force it deeper," I attempted to say with a mouthful of dick, begging him with rosy cheeks and baby blue eyes. Mr. Steel grabbed my head as he shoved himself deeper, my nose buried against his groin while my throat flailed in resistance.

Masculine moans echoed off creaky gazebo construction while my esophagus spasmed against his meaty cock. A flurry of foul words and euphoric tremors preluded the eruption of milky hot liquid shooting down my throat. I gobbled up the CFO's load and suckled his shaft, bobbing my head up and down to drain every last drop of cum. I popped my lips off his sensitive head while wiping a dribble of jizz from my mischievous grin.

At least...that's what I had imagined.

Reality was much, much different: not much was said, no secrets were kept, no blowjobs were given.

"Not...many people know I smoke," the CFO suddenly said, flicking his cigarette away while bringing me back to the present. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Mmhm, yes sir," I said and nodded, exhaling a huge sigh of relief and smoke.

Mr. Steel said his goodbye before heading back up. And just like in the elevator this morning, he paused for a bit, which made it seem like he wanted to say something else... something more... something—anything!

But again, he was gone before he had the chance.

Next time, I vowed, I would not hesitate. Either.

Normally I was excited about the approaching weekend, but considering these newfound encounters with Mr. Steel, I was dreading the 5 o'clock dismissal. Blake was hanging out by my desk before work let out; I said I was going to stay late to make up work that I missed—but shhhh, secretly, I was trying to get another smoke session with Mr. Steel!

However, silly stubborn Blake insisted that there would be no work for me to do since everyone was on their way out for the weekend. I shrugged and sighed, assuming he was right. I started to pack my belongings and closed my computer down.

"Besides," Blake smirked, adjusting his tie and undoing a shirt button, "I was gonna see if you wanted a ride to my place."

The office phone suddenly rang. Blake mouthed "leave it" but I answered anyway.

"Hi, this is Miss London, and thank you for calling—"

"Mr. Steel's office, please," a woman's voice interrupted.

"Umm, Mr. Steel is gone for the day ma'am—" I began before getting cut off again.

"Excuse me. This is Jenni Lane. I am his wife," the woman said, "and I know he's there because I'm standing next to his car."

"Oooh..."

"His cellphone's going straight to voicemail," Jenni Lane continued, "and I need to let him know that I'm here."

"Could you...hang on for just a second?" I cover the mouth receiver and look up at Blake. "Where is Mr. Steel? His wife's on the phone."

"Oh shit..." Blake said, shaking his head, "I've been deflecting her calls all day. Just tell her that he's not here."

"She IS here, Blake. She's at his car."

"Oh shit..."

"What's going on?"

Blake pauses, then an idea comes to light. "Just...buzz her in, and keep her distracted. Do not let her out of your sight—and do NOT lead her to Mr. Steel's office. I'll let him know right now..." Blake turns tail and runs down the hallway, leaving me utterly confused and slightly shaken.

I return to the phone. "I was just informed that Mr. Steel's in a meeting right now," I quickly claim, "but we can wait for him to finish; let me buzz you up to the fifteen floor."

The three elevators are flooded with the demands of exiting coworkers and lower floor employees, so it takes awhile before the CFO's wife appears. But when the elevator doors chime open some ten minutes later, Jenni Lane emerges and I literally gasp at her majestic presence.

Long blonde hair flows over her ivory shoulders and down a short black dress. Icy blue eyes pierce my emotions while dark red lips accentuate her seductiveness. My eyes are drawn to the plunging V between her tits, ogling at perfectly perky breasts and rock hard nipples. Black lacy thigh highs catch my attention next, encircling her silky legs and ending in stilettos with bright red soles.

A sensation surges from within. I suddenly feel the need to feel her, all of her. I need to feel her warmth. I need to smell her hair. I need to touch those perfect tits. I need to taste—

"Why hello Jenni Lane," I warmly greet, awaiting her arrival in front of my desk. My outstretched arm welcomes a handshake. She just stares at it—then stares up at me, tracing my body with narrowed eyes and a slight frown. This was not much different than the way Mr. Steel stared at me—but the way she did it made me feel uncomfortable, uneasy, unnerving.

I squeak the following to break the feeling: "Mr. Steel is finishing up his meeting so he'll be with you shortly."

"What are you—his secretary?!" Jenni Lane barks. I gasp. She apologizes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be...so mean." It seems she wants to say more, but I didn't dare press on such a heated matter. She continues, "You're actually quite pretty."

I blush. Never before has such a beautiful woman complimented me. I beam a smile and nod my thanks and point towards a small beverage refrigerator behind my desk. "Fancy a drink?"