My Female Boss

I got home from work on time but was almost doubling over at how sore my cock was. When I stepped inside the lights were turned down low and there was soft, sexy music playing softly in the background. My heart sank, realizing my wife Stacie had obviously snapped out of her two week sour funk over me having to fuck my boss. She now was finally ready to make love to me and she wanted me to know it.

I sighed at my predicament. With my cock so sore and my balls so drained after a record breaking four orgasms, there was just no way I was going to be able to give her anything she wanted.

I suddenly felt her come up to me from behind, wrapping her arms up around my back until they clasped my chest. "Guess who?"

I turned and she began kissing my neck and face profusely. Then she suddenly stopped, her face turning from pleasure to rage.

"I was waiting all day for you to get home so we could make love, only now I see that your sluttish whore boss beat me to it. Don't try to deny it. I can smell the strong, unmistakable scent of her vagina all over your face. What did you do? Suck on her clitoris till she sprayed cum in your face?"

"She forced me!"

"Oh, so what ever happened to it's only going to be one time?"

"For two weeks she never came near me, and then, today, all of a sudden, it was either I fuck her for the second time or find another job. So I fucked her. And I wanted to stop, but the damn lady is just insatiable. Five and half hours!"

"And you probably enjoyed every fucking minute of it!"

My wife's words dug into me like a dagger, so I hurled back some choice ones of my own. "Listen Stacie, you're the one that wanted me to fuck her in the first place, remember? You're the one that wouldn't let me quit that damn job, remember?"

"So what...so what the hell are you saying? That she'll want you to keep on giving it to her?"

"She wants a baby."

"She what? She what!! Are you fucking kidding me? She wants you to knock her up? Oh this is just fucking getting from bad to worse. I can't live like this. I thought I could be strong. Maybe handle it just being one time, but now? Now! Fucking now!? What do you expect me to do? Just stay calm at home with this big belly you gave me and just be happy about it? I can't live like this! Dammit! I can't live like this! Stacie then burst out into tears, falling to her knees and hugging the stairwell, weeping onto the hardwood floors. "Oh God! What a mess. What am I going to do?"

I knelt down next to her, trying to console her, and put my arms around her but she pushed me off her.

"Get that damn pussy breath away from me you filthy pig!" she screamed, adding, "it was only supposed to be one time, not all the time!"

She then scampered up the stairs, just about ready to lose her mind, and I worried instantly, knowing what a traumatic effect such horrific stress could have on an unborn baby. She was seven and a half months, and as out of her mind as she was, I suddenly feared for both her safety and the baby's.

I reached her bedroom door just in time to watch it slam in my face, and hear the key turn the tumbler lock mechanism shut. She was not going to let me in and that was that! I sighed and trudged slowly back down the stairs. Things were out of control. It was time to pour myself a drink.

XXX

I slept the night just outside her door, laying on the floor. I could hear her weeping uncontrollably the whole night through and was worried sick about what all that mourning could do to the baby and her mental health. But, on the other hand, perhaps a really good cry was just what she needed, to get all the emotions out into the open like that.

Suddenly without warning, the crying stopped. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. My first inclination was to simply break the door down to see if she was trying to harm herself, but with my ear pressed to the door, I could hear her starting to move around, probably making her bed and opening drapes up. I supposed she might be in the process of snapping out of it. I decided not to antagonize her further. I would just let her alone until she might eventually come around.

I went downstairs and made breakfast. Being Saturday, the office was closed. It would give me and Stacie a chance to talk about what we were going to do.

It was four hours later before Stacie finally did show up downstairs in the kitchen where I was seated at the table, drinking coffee. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face awash with this zombie like look that really frightened me. I hoped with every fiber in my being that she was going to be okay.

She seemed to be trembling, and I didn't think it wise to try and console her physically, as the memory of smelling the boss's pussy on me might still be fresh in her mind.

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked apprehensively, unsure of whether she would just start yelling again or perhaps have a crying episode. She did neither.

"Something to drink would be nice," she answered, her voice scarily monotone.

"Good, because the coffee is just freshly brewed."

"No, I was thinking of something stronger, something much stronger. Do we still have that bottle of vodka laying around from last Christmas?"

"Yes, but-"

My 'but' was going to be a word of concern over the fact that alcohol and being pregnant probably didn't mix very well. She was on very shaky ground, however, so I didn't think criticizing her would be a wise idea. Better to just play along, I thought. For all I knew, she might be on the verge of some psychotic episode or mental breakdown.

"I'll get it," I said, rising from my seat.

When I returned she was sitting down, her fingers trembling as they reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table. It shocked me because Stacie had given up smoking the moment she found out she was pregnant. She even made me smoke outside if she were going to be on the same floor of the house with me.

She flipped open the pack and pulled one out, pressing it to her lips. Her whole body shook, and it was there and then I realized her nerves were completely shot, and she was mere inches away from becoming an emotional and mental basket case.

She popped the cigarette into her mouth and tried to press the flame on the end of the lighter to it but her hand shook too violently to light it.

I reached for her hand, steadying it. As much as I hated the thought of her starting to smoke again, the flame was high, and I thought it better to let her light her cigarette as opposed to accidentally lighting her hair or her clothing.

She drew in a breath until the clouds of white smoke began to push out of her mouth and nostrils. "Whew, it's been a long time."

I wanted to say something about the advisability of her smoking or drinking again, especially since she was pregnant, and especially after she had worked so hard to kick the habit in the first place. But she was clearly not herself, and any antagonizing words on my part would only serve in starting world war III.

I poured an ounce of vodka into a glass and set it before her, reaching for the orange juice.

Before I had even been able to unscrew the cap off the orange juice, she had tossed back the glass at her lips, leaving it empty. "Fuck the orange juice. More vodka. A double this time."

I did as she asked, pouring out a generous amount. She downed that quickly as well, making up her face at the harsh taste. "Just leave the bottle," she said. "And sit down. We need to talk."

I set the vodka down and sat next to her.

"Listen hon," I started.

"No, when I said we need to talk, what I meant was that you need to shut up and just listen. Only answer the questions I ask, got it?"

"Fine," I agreed, managing a compliant shrug. Again, I didn't want to cross her in any way that would set her off.

"How often do you think she'll want to fuck you?"

"I have no idea," I said. "Although unless and until she gets pregnant, she'll probably want it to keep on going. It was two weeks last time, but that was only because she'd had her period. I would say once a week probably, and most likely on Fridays cause most of the office staff leave early for the weekend."

"Hmmm, probably every Friday, eh? And for how long do you think each session will last?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes, so far you've been brutally honest, but that's what keeps me going, knowing I have all the facts. Don't hide anything from me!"

"Well, if yesterday was any indicator, from noon right up until closing time, at five-thirty. I suppose she thinks you won't find out about it if it is during office hours."

"Well she thought wrong. Hmph! Five whole hours. The woman is insatiable. What about the other guys in the office?"

"She doesn't want them anymore. Only me. She thinks that since I am so young and clean, and faithfully married, that she won't catch any STD's from me. She also thinks, that with me having knocked you up so quickly after our marriage, that I can get her pregnant quickly, despite her age. She also likes the fact I am, in her words, "very cute," because that means her baby will also probably end up being "very cute" as well.

"What else? There has got to be more to her obsession with you than that? You promised to be brutally honest with me, remember?"

"Well, she likes the way I am, again, in her words, "so sexy," with washboard abs, handsome and with a cock that can fuck for hours and hours even after having multiple orgasms. No other of the twenty-one salesmen in her office can do that."

"Hmm, all those qualities about you that you just mentioned were the same qualities that helped me fall in love with you in the first place!"

"Your point being?"

"My point being that sooner or later she is going to fall in love with you just the way I fell in love with you."

"Nonsense," I spat out, clearly horrified.

"Is it? Just think about the fact that she has chosen you to be the one to give her that baby. No other salesman was allowed to have sex with her more than once despite their obvious pleading, and remember, I saw her at the Christmas party. She is very hot looking, a real sexy babe. They would all have jumped at the chance to hump her again, and yet she only wants you to hump her again, and probably again, and again. Don't you see? For now it is once a week, but soon it will be once a day, and then when she does get pregnant, it'll be that she wants a father for her baby and then before you know it she'll be asking you to divorce me and marry her."

"That's crazy."

"No, that's just thinking ahead logically. I checked your bank account by online banking a few hours ago. Do you know the woman has actually doubled your salary?"

"She said she would."

"Hmmm, she is obviously a woman that means what she says and says what she means. She also does exactly what she says she is going to do, and that means she is going to force you into getting her pregnant. And that would be just more than I could possibly bear."

"So what should I do about it, quit? I'll quit if you want me to?"

"Quit? Not on your life. Both our parents are dead. We were both only children and have no brothers or sisters to turn to. You might get another job quick, but then again you might not. Your boss would give you a bad reference and try to get you fired again if you did manage to get another job somewhere else. You know, women's scorned syndrome? We could end up losing our condo, our two cars and both our credit ratings, and worst of all, even, as I said, losing the baby to child welfare services. Your damn boss has you over a fucking impossible barrel and she knows it!"

"Soooo if I don't quit, and if you wouldn't be able to handle me getting her pregnant and then risk having her fall in love with me, what to do now?"

"Kill her."

The two words were not softly spoken as one might suppose, neither were they uttered timidly like some kind of test phrase, floated into the atmosphere to see if there were any support for them. They were merely spat out by a vengeful, almost insane housewife who had been pushed over the edge, feeling like a rat in a maze trap with someone poking a stick at her.

"I didn't quite hear you?"

"Sure you did. I said kill the bitch! It's on record that you are making twice your normal salary. If she dies, the new office manager they hire would simply continue to pay you the new, higher salary. After all, you are number one on the sales board. Who would question it?"

XXX

The next Friday came very slowly. I had taken up drinking to steady my nerves. My wife's plan was crazy enough that it would probably work, but I was a nervous wreck, letting her know there was just no way I could ever pull a gun trigger on another human being.

"I can pull it," my wife had said. "I could easily pull the trigger on that husband stealing, whore slut bitch just fine."

At first I was dead set against it, but my wife insisted that I either go along with it or she would divorce me, running off to some other country where I would never see either her or the baby once it was born.

I was in a panic and so I agreed.

It was approaching noon and I left the emergency stairwell door open at the back of the office. No one ever used it because we were six floors up, which would make it a really long walk on concrete stairs as opposed to the elevator out in the lobby.

But the stairwell had no cameras on it. The camera was pointing at the office front door, monitoring all people as they came in or out of it.

At Five-thirty sharp, after a particularly hot five hours sex session, my boss, still half naked, walked me to the front door, planting a kiss onto my handsome lips. I had asked her to accompany me to the door, wanting the camera to capture me leaving and her still alive.

By the time she got back to her private office, my wife had slipped through the back emergency entrance and was waiting for her to step through the door. One bullet to the heart was all it took.

I came around the building then climbed the emergency stairs where there was no camera, back up six flights. I slipped in through the emergency exit my wife had left open for me.

I found my boss dead on the floor, with a small pool of blood oozing onto the small throw rug.

My wife was trembling and had this weird but satisfied look on her face.

I took the small gun from her hand and slipped it into my jacket pocket. I could tell her mind was temporarily gone.

I rolled my boss up inside of the rug. It covered her head and legs perfectly.

I then dragged her out of her office and slid her down the stairs to the fifth floor, which was the garbage chute room. They never bothered locking that door.

My wife suddenly snapped out of it and raced down to meet me as I dragged her body to the conveyor belt. The belt ran to two separate doors, one recyclable, which they would meticulously go through to separate, and one, non-recyclable, which they would cart away and dump daily into the cavernous city dump. My wife hit the non-recyclable button.

XXX

Our baby was just born yesterday. She is just like her mom, pretty and vibrant.

It's been six weeks since the secret murder. Gone from my wife's eyes are the doom and gloom once forced upon her by my sex hungry boss.

They never did find her body, and the police only questioned me once. All the salesmen told the cops the same thing. She made them fuck her in her office. The last known tape of her alive saw me leaving the building kissing her. My wife then verified that I got home soon after. We were off of the hook.

No one was sure if my old boss was alive or dead.

Imagine my surprise when the company, impressed that I was number one on the board, made me their new sales manager. Now I make twice as much as the double salary my old boss was paying.

I still have fuck sessions in my office each Friday afternoon, you know, just for old times sake. But only now they are with my wife, and, unlike my old boss, is she ever good at making babies!