Labor Relations Pt. 01: The Boss

I didn't mean to get a boy toy. Honestly. I didn't want to be one of those cougars who entraps young men with the mystique of "experience" and then uses them. I just acted on my needs. And his abs -- I was definitely influenced by his abs.

It's a long story. Let me start with spilled coffee.

Blake showed up his first day of work wearing a brand new suit that appeared to be off the rack at Dillard's. He was handsome in a naive sort-of way, like a clueless boy who needs mothering, but trapped in the body of a grown man -- a large, strong, broad, meaty man.

Actually, it wasn't exactly his first day of work. It was the first day of his internship. As in college internship. That's the part that's hard to admit. Blake is 23. I am ... well ... older than that.

Anyway, in our very first meeting on his very first day, I spilled coffee on my white blouse. Dropped on my desk, actually and I splashed all over papers, laptop, my chest, my face and my glasses. I take my coffee with lots of cream and sugar so it was cream colored fluid splattered across my face and boobs. And just then Blake walked in. He froze. He looked scared and mesmerized, staring at the mess, especially the mess on my blouse.

I shouldn't have done it but, to tease him, I stuck out my tongue and licked some of it off my plump lips.

Blake literally fainted, at least temporarily. He caught himself on the doorframe about halfway down and got back to his feet, shaky, and said, "I uhhhhh...."

"Morning Blake. I've just spilled coffee." This was met by a deep breath of recognition. "Can you run and get some paper towels?"

He did -- literally ran, the cute thing -- and was back at my side in a jiffy, dabbing up coffee from the papers on my desk and then handing me more paper towels to dab my blouse, though he looked interested in cleaning that up too.

"I'll get this part," I said pointing to my chest. "You can help with the desk." He nodded vigorously. "And my glasses. These paper towels aren't getting my glasses--"

"Oh, I can help with that, ma'am."

"You don't have to call me ma--"

I stopped because he was untucking his shirt, eagerly.

He took the glasses out of my hand and pulled the tail of his undershirt out from under his blue dress shirt. "T-shirt material is the best for cleaning glasses, ma'am. I learned that in high school, before I got lasik."

While he was avidly rubbing the glasses, I saw -- what with his shirt pulled up and all -- an abdomen that looked like granite chiseled into lovely, undulating muscle shapes. Michelangelo's David in a cheap suit.

I took the glasses from him. "Thanks."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you don't have to call me ma'am. Call me Rachel. I'm not that old"

"Yes, m-- Rachel-- I didn't mean to say-- You look very young. Er-- good. Fine. Er--"

"Thank you, Blake. Was there a reason you were coming in to see me?"

"Oh! Yes. Rachel. Just wanted to bring you this."

It was a thank you card for hiring him. And it included a gift card to a perfume shop I had mentioned in passing during his interview.

"Oh! Oh wow. Thank you Blake. That was very ... thoughtful." Honestly, I didn't know if it was thoughtful or inappropriate or savvy or naive or clingy or sexy as hell. But I was going to use the gift card. And I wasn't going to forget those abs.

A week later, we happened to be the last two in a meeting and Blake said, matter-of-factly. "That's a new fragrance. Did you use the gift card?"

"Y-yes. I did. Thank you."

"You smell great. I'm glad I got to sit by you in the meeting." And he left the room.

Again, I wasn't sure if he was young and dumb enough not to know he shouldn't tell his boss she smells good, or if he was young and brash enough to do it to curry my favor. Hard to read, that one.

Just then, he popped his head back into the conference room. "Oh hey, Rachel. A bunch of us are going to Paddy's pub after work. Want to join?"

"A bunch of..."

"Mostly interns," he said. "But also Shiela and Dave and Chris."

I didn't often go out with interns, but I figured it would be good for morale this once. It was a good decision. Turns out, several of the interns know my old professor from college. We had fun talking about college pranks and all-nighters.

About three drinks in, I noticed a waitress noticing Blake. She was a skinny little thing about his age and dumb as a box of rocks. Her come-ons were so obvious, I almost groaned. But she was showing plenty of midriff and bringing Blake plenty of booze, not all of which he ordered. At one point, she sat in his lap, making some excuse about needing to reach the other side of the table. She wiggled and giggled and when she got up, the bulge in Blake's slacks was so big I dropped my beer, splattering it on another white blouse.

"Shit!"

"Oh, Rachel!" It was Blake bringing napkins. Again. He dabbed my arm and said, "You've got some on your shoulder. Here..."

Standing next to me, his bulge was eye level and I studied it closely but discreetly. Could he really be that big?

Mostly cleaned up, I looked up at him and realized he had been looking down my blouse. I smiled at him and handed him my glasses -- our routine now. Again he lifted his shirt and cleaned them for me. Again, he exposed a lower torso that looked like Michael Phelps. Coupled with the still-bulging schlong laying across his abdomen, I could easily imagine the rest.

I left after that. The underlings were probably laughing at me. Based on the high-fives Blake got from a few of the other interns the next day, I guessed he went home with the waitress.

Weeks went by and Blake performed well as his job. He would always peek into my office door on his way out at the end of the day and tell me goodnight. A few times, he also threw out some suggestions for new strategies or processes. One of two of those turned out to be great ideas that put us in better market position. He was smart. And helpful. And young.

I'm 47 which, I realize, is more than twice as old as Blake, but I feel young. And I take care of myself. I eat right. I go to the gym. I'm still shaped like a curvy woman is supposed to be shaped. And I still turn heads, especially when I wear something low cut. My biggest assets have always been up top.

At the same time, I wondered whether someone as young as Blake could even notice my feminine features. Was everyone over 40 -- or even 30 -- just invisible to him? Or gross? Blake made me wonder if I was still as captivating as I felt 20 years ago.

Those thoughts came mostly late at night, alone in my apartment. Most of the time I was too busy for contemplation. I had a company to run and the work was nonstop.

One night toward the end of Blake's internship, I had a particularly contentious board meeting. The board president and I didn't see eye to eye. Luckily most of the board was with me. But it was a long and stressful slog and I was worried about holding the business together.

I drug back into my office at 10:30 and collapsed on the couch. Kicked off my shoes and laid out with my head on the arm rest. "I might just sleep here," I thought.

Just then I heard a knock.

"No basura. No limpia," I said, without opening my eyes.

Blake's voice said. "No hablo espanol."

"What are you doing here this late?"

"Wrapping up a project for Dave. He leaves on vacation tomorrow and won't be back before I'm gone for the summer."

"Thanks for all your hard work, Blake. You were the intern I could count on most this summer."

"Thanks. Tough meeting tonight?"

"Brutal."

There was a pause and then. "Ok, well, goodnight Rachel." I heard him walk away.

And then I realized I needed to take control. Like, really needed it.

"Blake! Come back in here," I called

"Yes?" he said, walking in.

"Close the door behind you. And come over here."

I was still laying on the couch. I kept my eyes closed, half in response to the raging headache I had, and half because I didn't want to see it if he reacted negatively to what I was about to do.

"I have a little more work for you tonight. Sorry to keep you."

"Um. Sure, Rachel. What can I do."

"Rub my temples."

"Rub... um"

"My head. My temples. I have a pounding headache."

He walked around behind my head. I looked up for a quick glance at his crotch. No noticeable bulge yet. Damn. He knelt and put his hands on my head and pressed firmly. He was very strong. He rubbed me.

"Ahhhhh. That helps."

We were quiet for a while. If I was going to gross him out or scare him off, I was at least going to get a decent massage out of it. Finally, I said, "That's better."

"Oh good," he said, watching me sit up.

I searched his face for excitement or disgust when I said, "Now my shoulders." I saw no emotion though. Just an obedient employee. I might as well be asking him to make coffee.

He walked around behind the couch and rubbed my shoulders. I pulled my hair to one side and I relaxed. He worked out to the end of my shoulders and back to my neck and then down my spine as far as my dress allowed.

I decided to go all in. What's the worst that could happen? A sexual harassment complaint? After that board meeting, I wasn't even sure I would miss the job. I looked up at him and told him to come around in front of me.

"Blake, you know we're announcing the intern awards next week."

"Yes."

"And I'm not supposed to tell you this but you're in the running for the top award."

He seemed pleased with that, but still reserved.

"That award comes with a $10,000 scholarship for grad school and the promise of a job offer when you come back to us."

"I know."

"There's something you can do tonight to make sure you get that award."

"What's that, Rachel?"

"Strip."

His mouth opened and he looked me in the eyes. He seemed to catch his breath. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he was about to ruin my career.

He walked closer until I was looking up at his chest. Then he said, "I thought you'd never ask" and unbuckled his belt.

I won't recount the entire striptease, but it was spectacular.

The high point might have been when he straddled me, shirtless. Close up, his chest was broad and smooth and rippling with his movements. I reached up and took his nipples between my fingers.

No, the high point was when he unbuttoned the top of his pants and slid them tantalizingly far down his hips, revealing that v-shaped arrow pointing to treasure below.

All of him was solid and meaty and baby smooth. And I mean all of him. A few minutes later -- no, this was the high point -- he slid out of his pants altogether and I saw that he shaves everywhere.

His penis seemed to reach almost to his knees. It swung free in front of me, like a hypnotist's pocket watch. I couldn't look away. And I felt my panties getting wet.

Completely nude now, he made a slow turn to let me drink him in from every angle. He flexed various muscles -- it was hard to keep up with them all -- as if asking for approval. Then he approached close. I reached up and put both hands on his meaty chest. I explored him, moving across his torso and his arms, down his stomach, watching my hands slide across his young skin. I reached one hand behind him and squeezed his ass cheek. I touched his hips, his abdomen and his long, vein-ringed cock. Every place I touched was hard and swollen.

His rod grew harder in my hands and he maneuvered his hips to aim it at my lips. I opened them and said, "Kneel, intern."

That wasn't what he expected. He looked confused, and hesitated. So I said it again, quietly but firmly. "Get on your knees, Blake."

He complied.

"Take off my panties."

I wiggled a little and pulled up my skirt and then lifted my ass so he could slide the black lace panties over my thighs and down my long legs. He looked up at me breathing quickly. I leaned over so that our faces were close to each other.

"Now, Blake, these next instructions are very important. Are you paying attention?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I want you to suck on my clit and finger my pussy until I cum on your face. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You don't have to call me ma'am."

"Oh, right. Yes, Rachel."

"Good, now what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to suck on your clit and finger your pussy until you cum on my face."

"Thataboy," I patted him on the head, leaned back into the couch and spread my legs.

The pressure of work, the board meeting, the quarterly reports, and even my age all melted away in a warm bath of contentment when Blake put his boyish, beardless face between my legs.

Blake may have eaten pussy before -- young, firm, immature pussy like that skinny waitress. But that night I gave him the wettest, slipperiest, juiciest feast of well-aged, prime-cut pussy flesh he'll ever put in his mouth. I bucked and shivered, moaned and shouted. I grabbed his head and pressed it hard into my snatch, grinding myself against his mouth. I wrapped my legs around him, then put them on his shoulders, then dropped them to the floor to press up in a heaving shriek against his tongue.

Blake was a sport. He kept up with my convulsions, mostly. When he looked up at me, occasionally, his pretty young mouth locked onto my clit, I couldn't tell if it was pleasure, surprise or terror in his eyes. But I really didn't give a fuck. He was doing exactly what I needed him to do, like a good intern.

Finally, I felt the energy rising through my whole body. I grabbed his head and shouted. "Suck, motherfucker! Don't you dare let go!" And then I threw myself back against the couch and wailed and arched my back and cummed long and hard.

I lay there heaving for several long minutes, my head lolled over the back of the couch, my arms dropped limp at my sides, my legs spread, and my ass in a sopping gooey puddle of my own juices. I closed my eyes and drifted into a sort of waking dreamland, utterly at rest. Satisfied in my body, my allure, and in Blake's valiant performance.

After a few minutes, I opened one eye to find him, wondering where he had gone. He was standing at my desk, wiping off his mouth and neck with tissues. His dick was still standing at attention.

"Blake," I said. "You are a very good intern."

"Thanks, Rachel. You are -- I've never had a boss like you."

I didn't know what that meant but I didn't care.

"You deserve to be rewarded for that."

"Thank you. The scholarship will really help."

"That's not what I mean."

I got up and unzipped my skirt, dropping it to the floor. "Come here," I said in my most seductive voice.

"Blake, have you ever imagined seeing my breasts?"

He nodded and this time I recognized the emotion. "Since that first day," he said. "And, a lot more days since then."

I started working the buttons of my shirt while he watched.

"And nights?"

He blushed a little. "Rachel, I have jerked off to your tits more times this summer than I can count."

"You are a good intern," I repeated, freeing the last button and pulling my shirt off my shoulders.

I reached for the clasp of my bra, but Blake said, "Let me help" and reached around me and slipped it free. It fell to the floor and Blake stood mesmerized staring at my tits.

"Rachel, you're gorgeous," he said. I think he just meant that compliment for my breasts but I didn't care.

I caught his hand and lifted it to my boob. The other followed, and then his mouth on my nipples. I let him wander and fondle to his heart's content. Then I told him to sit down.

He sat right in the wet spot of my juices and I knelt in front of him. His cock was pointing straight up like a rocket. I kissed the tip of it and then pulled saliva from the back of my mouth and let it fall onto his dick head. Then I pulled him in between my tits and moved myself up and down on his pole.

He watched his cock and my boobs as wide-eyed as a grade schooler in a candy shop, utterly transported by the sight of the breasts he had dreamed out rubbing against the dick he had rubbed to get to sleep.

Within seconds, he was losing control, gasping and reaching out for my shoulders, the couch, something solid as if he was falling through space.

"I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead, intern." I titty fucked him faster and he sprayed creamy spunk on my tits and chin and neck. He jerked and grunted and then fell back in the same position I had taken before him.

While he rested, I took a few long seconds to admire his fit, young body again. His broad, heaving chest, his thick arms, his flat tummy and those damn six-pack abs, and his huge dick growing limp between us.

He opened his eyes.

"May I kiss you, Rachel?"

I wanted to kiss him. In fact, I was surprised to realize only now that we hadn't yet kissed since I called him back into my office. He was so precious and beautiful and helpful. He deserved a kiss.

But it felt better -- like a boss -- to tell him no.

"Get out of here, intern."

He fumbled into his pants and got most of his clothes back on and got to the door in a flustered, happy hurry.

He turned to take one last look at me. I gave him a little pose, my feet together, my hips tossed out to one side, my hands holding up my tits and pressing them together. And my chest covered in splatters, just the way he found me on his first day.

I'd love to say that was the end of my wild, sexual mid-life crisis -- that I matured and moved on -- that I'm not one of those cougars who needs validation from a hot, young love muscle. But Blake won that scholarship, went to a year of grad school, and came back to our office six months ago as a low level staffer.

Most of my employees have performance reviews annually. Blake has his every Thursday night after our board meetings. He gets very high marks.