The Challenge

"What interests you in working in a call centre?"

I look up into my interviewer's dark brown eyes. You would think securing a job in all centre would be as easy as ordering a cheeseburger but this whole interview has been a disgrace because my interviewer is hot. Every time he asks me a question behind his heavy oak desk, I probably sound like an idiot because I keep getting distracted.

"Tell me your strengths," he says and I have to tear my eyes away from how his rolled up shirt sleeves hug some pretty defined forearms.

"How do you handle conflict?" He asks and I barely hear him because his lower lip is slightly fuller than his top lip, and my head is exploding.

"What are some of your accomplishments," he questions after glancing down at my resume and I can't think of a single one because his fingers look pretty damn long. And strong. This observation makes me cross my legs to help relieve a bit of an ache that's starting to develop.

Much like the other questions, there is a pause. I pull myself together: "What interests me in working in a call centre? Well... Providing great customer service is very important to me. It makes my day knowing I can help someone else. It's a way of life," I answer with a straight face.

His lips don't twitch in amusement. He doesn't look impressed either - probably because I seem to need a ten second pause before every question as if I'm either slow, drunk, or learning English for the first time.

My parents would roll over in their graves if they knew I, their twenty-four year old baby girl, was interviewing for a call centre. Don't get me wrong, they were nice people but they had high hopes for me.

I'd always been a clever girl. "You're so smart," my parents would croon lovingly when I was a child. They fully believed their bright little girl would be a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer... My poor parents.

While I did catch onto things quickly - new tasks, instructions, theories, and formulas always came easy to me - there's a downside to being abnormally bright: you get bored. I just can't stick to one thing for very long without losing interest and moving on. I could barely get through a university course without dropping out halfway through for something new and more exciting.

Which brings me to the call centre and this very hot, potential employer. I'm sure my impressive list of career choices, (including administrative assistant, camp coordinator, retail, security, sales clerk, etc. (o name a few), is blowing his mind as much as I'd like him to blow me.

Not.

He looks bored and a bit superior. He probably has a college degree and a 401k. He's probably chock full of ambitions and at night, he probably has triumphant missionary sex with Virginia, his legal assistant girlfriend, before falling asleep and dreaming of making millions. Sure he's manager of a call centre now but one day, he'll be president.

Suddenly, I really want this job. His disdain for me and what my weak-willed resume represents for him turns me on. There's nothing I love more than a challenge, and this man (I can't even remember his name because my eyes quickly flicked over his wide chest when he introduced himself) on his high-horse is making me want this job badly.

"Listen," I say honestly, "I know my resume speaks of my tendency to jump shift often. But this is a good thing for you and your organization. I can learn anything and I can learn fast. And I'm going to bring a variety of skills to this job and make you wish you had ten more of me."

His eyes pass over my resume once more. "Alright Allie," he says with disinterest , "you're hired."

_

As much as I hated Sean - turns out that's what my boss' name is - I couldn't help but treat my shifts at the call centre like I was a groupie going to see my favourite band. I'd wear tiny skirts, thigh highs, inappropriately high heels, and tight little shirts. I'm sure the staff at the call centre, mostly little old ladies, just loved having me around.

I'd always show up ten minutes before my shift and stop in Sean's doorway before heading to my cubicle.

He would usually glance at me, exchange bored pleasantries to my insipid chatter, and then go back to his work.

"Hi Sean," I might say, twirling a lock of long brown hair around my finger, "have a nice weekend?"

"Yes, fine."

"Me too!" I'd chirp back before flouncing off with an extra bounce to my step so my little skirt might flip up and give him a tease (don't worry, I always wear panties. I am a lady after all).

Sometimes I would sink so low as to spend a few minutes in the washroom before my lunch to play with my nipples. Then I would hurry over to his office and say,

"Sean, it's freezing in here. Can we please get the heat on?"

I would then stand ramrod straight and wait for him to look up and see my erect nipples through my tight, cotton shirt. But his gaze never lingered. Instead, he'd make some noncommittal comment and look away.

I know what you're thinking. Could I be more obvious? I might be smart but I never said I was subtle.

_

It is after my first three weeks on the job that Sean interrupts me in the middle of my shift to come into his office. By then, I had grown tired of his curt dismissals and had recently stopped greeting him on my way in and out of the building. So I am more than surprised that he called me in. I have never been fired from a job before and while the call centre is already growing stale, I hadn't planned on leaving quite yet.

Sean takes a seat behind his desk. "Do you know why I called you in here today?"

What is this, the principal's office? "No," I answer, biting my tongue before adding something embarrassing like 'sir'.

"It's about your performance," Sean informs me.

This causes me to sit up straighter and cross my legs with indignation. Sean's brown eyes glance down briefly at my slim legs and it's all I need to fuel my confidence. "I can't imagine what you're going to say," I tell him, "I'm always ten minutes early, I have a good attitude, I read the damn script to our stupid customers and I don't fall asleep at my desk like some coworkers. What could you possibly have to say?"

Sean clears my throat and pauses, probably trying to make me ashamed of my outburst. Well tough. He's been rude to me for weeks and I've never been one to back down from conflict.

"The floor supervisor has brought some concerns to me about your attire," he says in a clipped voice. "It's not office appropriate."

I do not respond well to that. I stand up, chest heaving slightly from the small bubble of rage growing within me. "Oh please. This is a call centre," I respond sarcastically. Sean's eyes rest on my chest for a good ten seconds before meeting my face. A red flush creeps up his cheeks giving me a new surge of power. "Don't tell me you don't like the way I dress," I tell him gesturing out his large office window overlooking the call centre. "I'm the only eye candy here."

Sean is quiet. "I never said I don't like the way you dress," he mutters, "but it's indecent for a place of work like this."

Something about Sean's words makes my pussy leak the slightest bit of wetness. I look at him for a silent minute before turning to his window and slowly pulling down the flimsy grey shade. To Sean's widening stare, I reach for the hem of my little shirt and slowly pull it over my head.

It's a gutsy move but I'm a twenty-four year old in my prime. I've always considered my flat stomach and perky breasts as luxuries rather than privileges.

I toss the shirt aside. "Fine," I say quietly, my voice low, "do you have anything more appropriate for me to wear?" I cross my arms against my lacy pink push-up bra, realizing that it adds even more cleavage to my already well endowed chest.

He's speechless and I feel like queen of the world.

I slowly make my way over to him behind his desk. Like a robot, he pushes his chair slightly back as I approach and I take advantage by slipping between him and the desk. His hands are curled tightly around the arms of his chair and the knuckles are white. It's a big boss leather chair. Figures.

I place my hands on top of his hands and lean forward so I'm right in his face; I could probably lick that full lower lip if I wanted to.

"I think you like that I dress like a slut," I tell him. I glance down and see a bulge in his black slacks and feel my lips curl into a mischievous little smile. Lifting one hand, I pull the lacy cup of my bra down off of my left breast. "Now lick my nipple and show me how much you like it."

With this demand between us, I lean up slightly so my nipple aligns perfectly with his lips.

There's a tense pause. I admit that a part of me is looking for a way out of this situation but, on the whole, I just feel curiosity and a buzz between my legs.

Sean's hands tighten under my own on the armrest. He leans forward, his eyes never leaving my exposed nipple. Almost reluctantly, the flat of his tongue laps the hard little bud once and I shiver. His eyes find mine and he stares at me while using his tongue to flick my nipple back and forth.

"Fuck," I breathe, exposing my other breast. "Suck this one." He doesn't need to be told twice and starts sucking earnestly.

I can feel my pussy creaming under my short little skirt into my pink thong. He's sucking me with a nice amount of pressure but he isn't nipping or scratching with his teeth, which makes me realize that my prior assumptions of his white-bread sex life might have been right. This realization makes me feel heady with superiority.

For three weeks, this man has been sneering at me from afar and dismissing me as a mindless employee. He made it more than clear in my interview that I was beneath him. But here, with my tits hanging out in front of his face and my aching pussy asking for release, I am superior.

I abruptly pull away from him, my breast pulling out of his mouth with a satisfying pop. He looks disappointed but expectant.

"Have you ever watched a woman masturbate in front of you, Sean?" I ask coquettishly. "I don't mean porn. I mean in person, like this."

"Allie," he says in a low voice.

I ignore him. "No?" I perch myself on his desk and spread my legs so he can have a nice view of my wet thong clinging to my shaved snatch. Sean swallows as I lean back onto my left hand and my right hand slithers down my tight stomach to lightly rub my clit outside my underwear. I refuse to give into my need to slip my fingers into my panties and really go to town. I want him to suffer.

"Does your girlfriend do this in front of you?" I ask.

He pauses. Now he is slow, drunk, or learning English for the first time. "No," he responds quietly, his eyes riveted on my rubbing fingers.

A bead of sweat rolls down from his short, black hair, down the side of his face.

I gently push the flimsy fabric of my underwear aside and spread my legs a little wider to give him a better view. Looking into his eyes, I bite my lip coyly and give my clit a little slap with my hand. The skin on skin contact makes me drop my head back and moan.

"Do you like what you see?" I ask him as I start rubbing my clit in tight, little circles. With my hips periodically bucking up to meet my hand and my long, brown hair brushing my hand supporting myself on the table, I have never felt sexier. I can feel my pussy leaking, leaving a warm, moist trail that trickles under my ass cheeks. Good thing I'm not sitting on any of his paperwork.

Sean has been silent for too long.

"Answer me," I tell him sternly, stopping my masturbating threateningly.

"Yes," he blurts out.

"Then take out your cock and stroke it for me."

Without hesitation, Sean unbuckles his black leather belt and pulls his pants and red briefs halfway down his thighs. Unsurprisingly, his cock is large, hard, and straining. By the way he lets his cock rest uncertainly on the palm of his hand, I can tell he's never masturbated in front of a woman and despite myself, I want to comfort him.

"Stroke it," I say more gently, "it'll turn me on to watch you stroke it."

His hand closes around himself and starts a rhythm that I can tell is familiar to him. Maybe he and his boring girlfriend are only a once a week type of couple after all.

Sean's eyes are back on my pussy. I smile wickedly and dip a finger into my slit. It slips inside with a sweet suction noise, alerting us to how wet I am. Pulling my finger out, I hold it up, "want a taste?"

He can't seem to find his voice as his rhythmic pumps in his cock pick up pace. "More for me!" I giggle before sticking my finger in my mouth and sucking with relish.

I hear a small groan from Sean. He can pretend to be as stiff and staunch as he likes but I know, with me spread eagle on his desk and my pussy on proud display, he's enjoying my naughty show.

"Do you want to fuck my tight pussy?" I ask (as if I need to).

"Yes," Sean breathes out the world, his hand moving over himself lightening quick. I can see the pre-cum glistening on the tip and I feel my mouth water.

"Say please," I reprimand him, my eyes on his moisture.

"Please," he chokes out and I feel a little thrill. This must be killing him.

I glance toward his office door, wondering if it is locked, before beckoning him forward. "Put it in me nice and slow. I want to feel every inch of your veiny dick."

He steps forward a little hesitantly. I wonder if the words "sexual lawsuit" are at the front of his mind. Would I sue him? Would he sue me? I smile at him invitingly, letting him know I want this. Letting him know that right now, I'm his temptress.

Sean guides his dick to my entrance and pauses. Putting my upper body weight onto my two hands behind me, I lift my hips and grind his dick with my slit. My cream spills out onto him, luring him into silky, warm depths.

It's all the invitation he needs. Inch by painstaking inch, Sean fills me. I'm holding my breath as the large head of his dick struggles a bit to stretch my pussy open, but as soon as the mushroom cap is inside, he fills me easily. Once he's balls deep, we both moan. I can feel him pulsing within me - or maybe that's me.

Seeing Sean in front of me, buried to the hilt with sweat glistening on his forehead and looking slightly ridiculous with his pants halfway down his legs and his button down shirt still on, I feel victorious. I knew he couldn't resist me wiggling my ass into work every day with a cheerful smile. I might not be upper crust like him and his dull girlfriend, but my pussy owns him even if just for this moment.

I place my hands on Sean's chest; he stands frozen as if he can't believe what's happening. I lean into whisper into his ear, my tits still hanging out of my bra and my movement pushing him impossibly deeper into my hole.

"Now say you're my bitch," I whisper in his ear.

I pull back and give him a confident smile.

What happens next is a blur.

Sean's breathing stops. He swiftly pulls out, my pussy's wet protest seems to echo around us. He pulls me down from the desk and flips me so I'm bent over. It happens so quickly, I don't even have time to make a sound. As soon as I'm face down on his desk, the underwire of my bra pushing uncomfortably into my bare breasts, his hands pin my hands above me. His other hand grabs my hip to hold me steady and he sinks deep into my pussy.

I'm shocked. And yet the tight dry grasp of his hand holding both of my much smaller hands prisoner and the way his fingers press insistently on my hip to trap me make me wetter than I thought possible.

He rams his cock into me. My natural lubricant makes for an easy glide but the force behind his thrust, the pent up anger I imagine he's feeling, makes me deliciously nervous.

Fully embedded within me, Sean leans over my naked back so his mouth rests by my ear. The buttons of his shirt press into my back, branding me.

"Did you think," he hisses into my ear, "that you can strut in here dressed like a sexy little slut and tell me what to do?" I start to answer but he cuts me off. "Don't bother answering. Your dirty mouth has done enough."

Sean remains pressed to me and grinds his hips into my ass. I want to squirm, I'm so turned on. But his hand on my hip and his weight over me leave no room for movement.

"Every day I have to watch your tight little ass bounce in here like you own the place. How do you think it looks to everyone else? I have to force myself to look away from those fucking breasts. Did you know I like big tits? And your little fuck-me-heels... I'm your boss, you little cocktease."

Sean's hand moves from my hip to slide between the desk and my left breast. He gives it a painful squeeze that makes my hip buck and he groans.

"Does it please you to know I can't fuck my own girlfriend without thinking of you anymore? It's been three weeks and all I can think about is your little cunt. I've pictured you bent over my desk like this a thousand times, you dirty bitch."

Sean gives me three hard thrusts and when I start to moan his hand moves from my breast to cover my mouth. "Don't you dare make a sound. I don't need everyone to know I'm fucking the office slut." Sean rims the outer edge of my ear with his tongue, making me shudder.

"You're going to be dead silent while I give it to you. If you make a sound, I'm going to stop and you won't get even a taste of my cum. Do you want my cum?"

"Y-y-yes," I stutter in a hoarse whisper. My heart is hammering and my legs start to tremble. Yes, I want his cum. But I want my own release just as badly.

"Good girl." Sean stands upright again and places both hands firmly on my hips. "This is going to be hard. Take your hand and work your dirty little clit. And not a sound."

Sean starts pounding me with a ferociousness that makes my blood hum. I probably won't even need clitoral stimulation but the overwhelming orgasm building inside me eggs me on. My hand slips between my legs and I trap my clip between my index and middle finger and start wiggling it back and forth rapidly. My orgasm grows larger. I'm dying for release. And yet, I try to hold off. I'm so turned on by his big fucking cock splitting me open that I use every ounce of self control to fight off my release.

Sean's balls slap my pussy lips with a hypnotic rhythm. The only sounds in his office is our heavy breathing (I have to occasionally bite my lip in fear he'll leave me right before I have the best orgasm I've ever had in my life), skin slapping skin, and the wet suction of my sopping thatch.

He seems to be getting off on his dirty talk as much as I am. "Take it," he grounds out, each word accentuated by a hard thrust, "you - nasty - little - whore. Is this what you want? A hard fuck? You're my little bitch, you cunt."

My fingers tighten on my clit. I'm so close but

I want to push him over the edge. I still want this victory even if it's just a slice. "You love it. You practically begged for it. And now -"

My words are cut off by Sean placing an insistent thumb on the delicate opening of my asshole. My hands, which were flat on the desk and gripping the edge for dear life, tighten. Remembering our audience outside the door, I quickly bring my arm to my mouth and bite to muffle my scream my body fragments. Sean's cock in me, his finger on my puckered back door, my panties still on but pushed aside and completely soaked, and three weeks of teasing sharpen my orgasm to the point where I think I might splinter. I feel the release all the way down to my toes. If I die now, this orgasm will have made it all worth it.

It's as I'm coming down from the light-headed rush that I feel Sean emptying himself inside me. He's silent except for deep gasping breaths. His fingers hold my hips tightly as he empties himself that I think he'll leave bruises. I don't mind.

This has been the quietest, most intense moment of my life.