Getting the Job: Fiona Bruce 01

Getting the Job: Fiona Bruce Part 1: Honey Pot

By Imorol

Disclaimer: This is a fictional story for adult entertainment purposes.

Now, to the story...

Walking through the corridors of the BBC Studios in London, news anchor and TV presenter Fiona Bruce had a meeting with Alger Cantrell, Director of BBC News. Dark heels clicking against the floor, she strode with confident purpose, tall slim body wrapped in a rich blue dress, knee length with a shallow V-neck.

After entering the television industry, her career had begun to quickly falter. Contacts from her previous work in advertising were enough for the British woman to get her foot in the door but had proven lacklustre when it came to growing her profile. Seeing others overtaking her and finding far greater success, Ms Bruce had turned to the SF Talent Agency.

With contacts at every level of the entertainment industry, they had a proven track record: their clients seemed able to pick and choose their career paths, gaining fame and fortune, and managing to sustain it. But there was a cost to such achievements. In exchange for career advancement, those signed with the SF Talent Agency exchanged sexual favours with those associated with the organisation.

At first it had galled Fiona that women, and even men, would do such a thing! Sell themselves? It went utterly against her beliefs and principles and she'd turned down meeting a representative from them. However, after a couple of years her career remained stagnant while less talented people surpassed her. Pragmatism winning out, Fiona had eventually signed with the talent agency and her career skyrocketed, just as her agent, Carla Wilson had promised.

Spreading her legs for men and women had proven rewarding in more ways than one. Not only had Ms Bruce become one of the most recognisable news anchors in the UK, setting numerous firsts, but the sex she shared was satisfying. Over the years she'd experienced sexual scenarios that would ordinarily have never occurred to her. And although not everything had been to Fiona's tastes, they had mostly been enjoyable in their way.

BBC News Director Alger Cantrell was one of the many associates of the SF Talent Agency. He'd set an early meeting with the presenter who owed her current position to him. Although Ms Bruce thought the man and his ilk were pigs, he'd always come through with aiding her career and was a good-looking and nice enough person. And the sex isn't half bad either.

Walking into the Director's outer office, Fiona gave a perfunctory smile to the young blonde seated behind the reception desk.

'Morning Isabella. I've an appointment with Mr Cantrell,' she said to the younger woman. It always struck the news anchor as a curiosity that the Director had such a young looking personal assistant when his tastes clearly ran to mature women. Keeping up appearances, I suppose.

'Good morning, Ms Bruce. Please, go right on through,' Isabella Coleman replied with a bright smile.

'Thank you. Do you think you could do me a favour? Could you put something in the post for me?' the tall brunette asked.

'Of course,' came the reply.

'Here's the address,' Fiona said, handing a slip of paper to the secretary.

The slender anchor then casually tugged her dress up, revealing long shapely legs. As cloth rasped against satiny skin, a pair of ivory silk knickers came into view, small and tight. Neutral expression on her face, Fiona Bruce pulled her underwear down, their progress tracked by the watching blonde. Leaning against the desk, she stepped out of them before dropping the silk on the wooden surface.

'Send those to the address, please,' Fiona said, hands smoothing the blue dress back in place.

'Certainly, Ms Bruce,' Isabella replied, unfazed by what had just happened. It wasn't the first time the assistant had seen a BBC star do this.

'Thank you.' Turning from the desk, Fiona Bruce rapped once on the door to the Director's office before striding through. Behind, she didn't see the younger woman picking up her used knickers. Nor did she see Isabella take a sniff of them, eyes closed smile spreading across her face.

Within the executive office, Alger Cantrell sat behind a large desk, phone held to his ear. Seeing the visitor enter, he waved to a chair placed before the desk as he continued his conversation.

Unhurriedly the tall brunette moved across the office before taking the proffered seat. Casually crossing her legs, the blue dress rose up high, displaying an abundance of long toned thighs. Hands clasped in her lap, she waited patiently. She didn't have long to wait.

Standing up from his own chair, Cantrell moved from behind the desk, still talking into the handset. Coming to a stop next to his guest, he presented the large bulge pressing against his suit trousers. Looking down at the brunette, he didn't say anything to her, just continued the conversation on the phone.

Not requiring instruction, the TV presenter turned in her seat, the better to face her boss, legs still crossed. Manicured fingers pulled down the man's zip, felt the thump of the excited cock within. Reaching inside Fiona Bruce felt the thick hot bar of the penis throbbing in her grip. Holding the trouser fly open she hauled it out. It stood proud, veiny shaft pulsing, the helmet outlined under the foreskin.

Fingers unable to wrap fully around the girth, the celebrity presenter pulled down. Peeling back the foreskin revealed the pink head, a wave of heat and musk wafting from it. Up and down the hand moved, tugging on the cock, feeling it stiffen further. A bead of pearly pre-cum appeared at the tip, the crown growing darker as the man became fully erect.

Leaning over in her chair, Fiona Bruce opened her mouth to swipe her tongue over the slit at the end, feeling the burn of the salty drop she collected from it. Giving a few licks, she opened her mouth once more and took in the prick head. Lips closed behind the crown, she sucked, tongue flickering against the sensitive ridged skin beneath.

Barely constraining his voice, Mr Cantrell continued his phone call. As he watched the brunette swallowed more of his cock, thick shaft passing through sexy lips. Against the sensitive head he felt her tongue stroking the underside, soft flesh of her cheeks wrapping around him as she sucked his dick. Fiona Bruce really knows how to give a blow job, he thought.

A hand on the back of her head, the sexy Brit accepted the encouragement and slid her lips further down. Saliva gathering in her mouth she lathered the cock with it as the head slid through her lips, brunette head bobbing up and down. With half the veiny prick taken she dropped a hand to the man's balls, cool fingers cupping the hot sack.

It was getting harder for Cantrell to concentrate on the phone call. Feeling his cock getting sucked was always a good feeling, but watching the sexy Ms Bruce do it was on a different level. Her mouth was warm and wet, the lips encircling his shaft were soft and her tongue was agile as it played all over the head, the tip digging and prodding at all the sensitive spots and delving into the slit at the end, lashing over it to gather more dripping pre-cum. Against his balls cool fingers caressed the wrinkled sack, the tips juggling his nuts, fingernails scratching the skin teasingly.

And those legs! Those luscious long pins, he thought, eyes following their contours. Right leg over left, from the curve of her knee the line of her thigh went on and on before coming to the hem of the blue dress. Tracing that hem his gaze moved down to where the woman sat, tying to see her pussy but it was hidden by the closed legs.

Switching the phone in his left, the Director put his right hand on Fiona's knee. As the brunette continued to bob up and down his prick, the man slowly slid his hand further, fingers brushing over the toned flesh. Wet sounds came from the sucking mouth as his touch went higher. Fingers spread he massaged the svelte muscles, caressed the warm skin.

Fiona moaned around the dick filling her mouth. Despite her feelings of being used like this, the demeaning nature of it, the slender woman couldn't deny it excited her. As more saliva gathered under the ever present tongue, washing the throbbing cockhead, obscene wet sounds were heard. On her thigh she felt the man's exploring touch, the tingling of fingertips circling over smooth skin, going under her dress, climbing higher, getting closer to her crotch. In spite of herself, Fiona Bruce moaned deep in her throat as her boss reached her womanhood, felt fingers stirring through the trimmed bush of pubic hair. With the briefest hesitation she uncrossed her long legs. Heeled feet on the floor they parted, making room for the man to touch her further.

'...and I want that...Oh! Er...yes, I want that ordered...' Cantrell stuttered as he felt the woman's bush. Resuming his call he let his fingers brush through the soft downy hair, curling his fingers to lightly tug on it. Eyes shining with exhilaration he watched the news anchor move her legs, opening them in wanton invitation.

Leaning over the BBC executive pressed his hand to the presenter's crotch. A boiling wet heat greeted the intrusion. Fingers sliding about he felt the lips of Fiona Bruce's snatch, open lips slick with feminine juice. Not interested in denying himself, Cantrell drove a strong middle finger straight into the star. The moist grip of pussy enwrapped the interloper. Fuck, she's hot in there.

A moan came from the female as the finger slid between the walls of her twitching cunt. Muffled by the thick prick she sucked, the sound turned to a muffled groan when the digit started to fuck back and forth. Pelvis buzzing with building arousal, she squirmed in the chair as the finger moved about the most intimate of spaces. Then a second pushed forward to enter her, the two passing through the greasy canal. Rough knuckles rasping her inner membranes, tantalising sensations rippled along the spasming tunnel, reaching up to the quivering clit peeking from its hood.

BBC News anchor Fiona Bruce sitting in a chair, rich blue dress at her waist, legs open. Brunette head bobbing as her mouth slobbered over the thick prick of the BBC News Director. Between spread legs a pair of fingers fucked in and out of the slushy quim, squelching as they moved through the clutching hole, their passage greased by copious amounts of womanly honey. The air scented with the aroma of hot fanny, resonating with the sound of watery sucking and muffled moaning.

'Listen, Dave, I have to go. Something very important has come up,' Alger Cantrell said into the phone. 'Yeah, I'll have that arranged soon. Ok. Bye.' Ending the call the phone was unceremoniously dropped on the desk. With a gross slurp he pulled his fingers from the TV star. Lifting them up they spread, pussy juice strung between them in elongating ropes before they snapped.

Nostrils flaring the man sniffed his dewy digits, captured the tangy smell of Fiona Bruce's sex. Another sniff before they disappeared into his mouth, the cream sucked from them with an appreciative moan. Wanting more he leaned over again, shoved his fingers back into the woman. Rapidly thrusting he finger-fucked her, buttered her cream. Once more coated in honey, he tasted the female essence on his fingers, eyes closed as he savoured the taste.

'Wonderful,' Cantrell murmured. 'No knickers today, Fiona?' he asked, looking down on the seated woman.

With a loud pop she pulled her mouth off the stiff cock, leaving it dripping with spittle. Visibly throbbing, the pink head had turned purple, pulsing and angry in appearance.

'I asked Isabella to post them for me,' she answered before flicking her tongue over the man's prick. Seeing the quizzical expression on his face she explained further. 'The SF Talent Agency's set up a website where we can sell our used underwear, clothing...and other things, if we want. It's all anonymous. The buyers think they're buying items from lookalikes. They have no idea they're buying the used underwear of the real TV stars.' She laughed. 'It's a bit of fun really,' she said, although speaking for herself, Fiona found it arousing. Some stranger having a wank while they get off to the smell of my fanny!

'That's really rather nasty,' the gentleman said before a wide grin split his face. 'I like it.' Fiona made to resume the blow job when he stepped away. 'I want to watch you wank,' the executive said, as if he'd read her mind. Offering a hand he helped her to stand before escorting her to a leather sofa pushed up against a wall of the office.

Pulling the rich blue dress up to her waist, Fiona Bruce sat on the edge of the sofa before laying back, legs splayed wide. Deep in the valley formed by those long, long legs, below the brown haired bush, was the darker skinned area of a ready pussy, the flesh swollen with sexual need, shiny and slick with womanly honey. From between the open flaps a dribble of hot juice escaped.

Undoing his belt and dropping his trousers, the TV executive sat on a sturdy coffee table. Hand stroking his prick he watched as Fiona Bruce moved a hand between her legs and started masturbating for his entertainment.

At first the long fingers moved up and down the creamy slit, a varnish of secretions quickly coating them. Thus lubricated it was applied to her clitoris, painted fingertips circling the tight little bud. Head resting against the back of the sofa, the tall presenter closed her eyes, lips parted as she sighed, enjoying the pleasure of her own practiced touch.

'Oh, ooh yes,' the presenter moaned softly, working the sensitive love bean. Fingers strumming she varied the speed, letting the feelings build. Sliding up and down caressing the labia, they swelled, became hotter and thicker. Pelvic muscles twitching caused the sopping fanny to convulse, more trickles of hot juice dribbling out. Free hand on her thighs it rubbed the toned muscle, tingles racing along the leg, added to the throbbing steadily increasing in her crotch.

'Yes, that's it Fiona. Wank that pussy,' Cantrell said in a husky voice, hand jerking the stiff prick, eyes glued to the sight on the sofa.

Squirming against the couch Fiona Bruce fingered herself, two digits sinking inside, twirling, spreading and sliding. Thighs opening wider, the woman moaned ever louder as she frigged the needy little snatch. Other hand now on her chest it groped a breast through her clothing, seeking out an erect nipple, trying to pinch the teat.

Suddenly she groaned loudly. Leaning forward the male executive had shoved one of his meaty fingers back into her, making three digits filling the sweltering hole. Together they worked in and out, hers sliding against velvety walls, his crooking and targeting the sensitive G-spot. The news anchor writhed about, arse grinding into the cushions as the added stimulation stoked her heat.

'Another. Please,' she whimpered.

Happy to oblige Cantrell added a fourth, felt the cunt stretching round them. The combined feeling of the moist wetness was incredible, the pulsing clutching hole grasping at the intruders sensational. Thick viscous fluid slicked the penetration, coated the combined questing digits. Close up the smell was divine, wafting on scented air fired by the woman's crotch.

'Yes, that's it. Get it nice and gooey for me,' Cantrell encouraged. In his other hand his prick ached, throbbed with its growing need to enjoy Fiona Bruce.

Eyes drinking in the sight of the wet snatch, it was too much for the man to hold back. Yanking his fingers out, he dropped to his knees. Pulling Fiona's hand away his mouth latched onto the dripping cunt. Attacking the clit his tongue lapped away at it, brushing over the little bud, felt it quiver under his attention. Slurping noisily he ate the pussy, hungry lips sucking labia, drinking the increasingly present honey seeping from the trembling hole.

'Oh! Yes. Suck me Mr Cantrell. You're going to make me cum,' Fiona cried out, hands grasping his head, crotch grinding into the Director's face.

Jamming two fingers back into the steaming snatch of the woman he eat her sex, devoured her womanhood as she panted and groaned above. His mouth was full of the flavour of TV's Fiona Bruce, nose inhaling her sweet personal scent, cheeks flushed with the private warmth from her gyrating body. Head moving as his mouth worked he felt the woman's soft bush against his forehead and couldn't resist rubbing his face into the pubic patch.

'Ooh!' Ms Bruce wailed, hips rising to meet the man's face, desperate for a building climax to erupt. 'Oh, I'm going to cum. Going to...'

Through the writhing body Cantrell knew the star was getting ever closer to orgasm. Straightening, he grabbed his aching prick and drove it into her. A tight hot wetness engulfed the head, the first two inches. Shoving harder, sinking the remainder deeper he felt the warmth moving over his prick, swallowing it, the head surging through the velvety smooth snatch. Grabbing the woman by the hips he fucked hard and fast. Wet sounds emanated from their impacting bodies, moans came from her, groans came from him.

Knowing he couldn't last long he didn't even try. Thrusting with his legs and hips he pounded the sexy female beneath him. Slapping sounded as the stiff prong drove between the clasping pussy lips, harder and faster. Slamming forwards and burying himself into Fiona's body the executive officer let go. Grunting loudly into the office, he surged spunk into the creaming celebrity. There was so much of it. Each pulse charged the length of the bloated member, pulsed with every bolt. The head seemed to grow and swell as each blast of seed shot forth, splashing deep inside Fiona Bruce.

With a loud screech Ms Bruce came. Back arching, body pressed against the cushions of the sofa whole body trembling. Impaling herself on her boss she knew she'd taken all of it, felt the entire length throbbing inside, soft bush squashed against wiry pubes. The head was crammed against the neck of her womb and a billowing heat evidenced the deluge of jizz erupting against it.

As the couple came they remained locked together. Crotch grinding against crotch they rode their pleasure as one. Eventually the executive withdraw with an obscene squelch. Barely wilted the cock was coated with a layer of creamy feminine honey, rich and pungent.

Moving back to the coffee table, Mr Cantrell watched the news anchor close her long legs, hiding her spunk-filled fanny. Standing he helped his visitor to her feet.

'Thank you, Fiona. Fantastic as always,' he said, sticky prick still hanging from his open fly.

'Will that be all, Mr Cantrell?' she asked. Fiona Bruce had won Rear of the Year for a reason: she had an exceptional arse. Often times she was called to this office, Alger Cantrell liked to fuck her up the bum.

'That's all I want today. Thank you,' he replied. Moving to his desk, she was clearly dismissed.

I see. He wanted to dip his wick in my honey pot, she thought. Throughout the years of working with the BBC News Director she'd learned first-hand that he enjoyed fucking one woman then having another suck his cock clean without telling them. He gets off on seeing a woman taste another on his prick. What an arsehole.

'Very well. Have a good day.'

Ignoring the warm throbbing of her satisfied twat, Fiona Bruce left the office and walked past the secretary, noting a small package now waiting to be posted. Checking her watch and seeing the time she walked to the elevator with long strides. Doors opening she stepped aside as Carol Kirkwood exited.

'Morning, Carol,' she said in greeting. Although British Fiona was proud of her Scottish ancestry. She gave a warm smile to the Scottish weather forecaster.