The Fixer

Last May I came in one morning to find the regional operations manager sitting in front of my desk. He tells me he needs my help to fill in at one of our satellite offices for a few months, just for the summer more or less.

The guy knew how much I liked my corner office downtown, and he knew it was an imposition but he said it was kind of an emergency and that he would consider it a personal favor.

I ask him what's the big deal with the place, he just says they lost the accounts manager in the office and needed to get somebody in there fast who wasn't going to screw things up.

The Stony Brook office was about a hundred miles from the city, but if they were willing to pay me a little bonus plus time and miles to spend a couple of hours a day cruising the freeway in my beloved CTS, I guessed I would be a good player and do what needed to be done for the team.

My name is Derek. I'm the "Fixer".

Taking this transfer would have been a dream come true if I was the outdoors type, Stony Brook was a located on a scenic byway, but scenery and outdoor recreation are not really my thing. I like the city, the bars, the clubs, and especially the girls.

You need to be in civilization to maintain a lifestyle like mine. I don't really like to brag, but frankly, for a guy in his 40's, I get more ass than a toilet seat any given week.

I have to laugh sometimes when I hear about some of my buddies who have a hard time getting lucky. Some of these guys look like movie stars. Me? I don't have a pretty face or a great head of hair, I don't have charm school etiquette, and I don't act overly intelligent.

What I do have is masculinity. I'm tall, I have wide shoulders and I'm lean and fit looking. I work out a bit, but cigarettes keep the fat off. I keep my hair buzzed high and tight.

I make good money, dress sharp and keep my Cadillac shiny, but the thing that really gets me laid is confidence.

Girls love confidence, and frankly, confidence comes pretty easy when you've got a big dick.

Well, it's only about as big around as a coke bottle, mind you, but it's just shy of 10 inches long.

Okay, I take it back, I do like to brag.

I figured out how to finesse a girl into dropping her panties for me way back in my teens, but I've done way better in the past 10 years.

The internet has changed everything this last decade.

I started using craigslist to find pussy a few years back when I started getting too busy with work to troll the meat markets, and I have since waded through enough bullshit hook-up websites to finally find a couple that really make good on their promises.

Last year I stumbled on to one that advertised local married women looking for "no strings" fucking. I was skeptical at first, but I signed up and posted a chest down selfie with my half hard cock angled for effect and within a week the MILF's started hitting the bait. It was like chumming the water for sharks.

Of course, I love young women, with their smooth skin and tight little bodies, who doesn't?

I don't think I'll ever get tired of giving an 18 year old her fist bigcock experience. But young women had all begun to seem kind of predictable to me.

I had fucked a few married women over the years and didn't think much about it, but the girls I met on this site, my God! I had my choice of the lookers; some of them were drop dead gorgeous, but there was more to it than that.

They all had this attitude, this frustrated horniness that you could just smell. I started to develop a nose for it, and I quickly developed a preference for it. They were so pliant, so insecure and so eager to please.

Every now and then younger girls screamed and ran off when I pulled Derek junior out of my pants, but that was less likely with these 'broken in' bitches.

Most of them had given birth and knew that larger things could fit into their precious little kootchie, even if it did take some stretching. Seemed like all of them were looking to get stretched whether they knew it or not.

---0---

Dinner, gas, a couple of drinks: Fifty, maybe a hundred bucks, sometimes less.

That look on her face when I park my Cadillac in her Mini Cooper sized garage: Priceless.

---0---

I won't lie about it, I get off on the feeling that I'm taking something that's officially "off limits".

It's an intoxicating kind of power knowing that while some faceless jerk is busy slaving at his job to pay off a mortgage and keep his sweet little wife in new shoes, she's on her knees in the middle of his expensively decorated living room trying like a champ to get her sweet little lips around my king-sized knob (Mm, no teeth baby, just pull the foreskin back and lick the head, there's a good girl).

Guys turn into work-a-holics to keep and maintain all their stuff, but somehow forget to fuck these delicious little bitches they've given their lives up for. I feel like I'm performing a service!

I don't try to make sense of it. I just smile every time I line my big tool up at the entrance of his wife's tight, neglected little pucker for that first time and wait for the guttural grunt when I ram it home.

When I bend her over his dining room table and bottom out in her sweet little Susie-home-maker ass, when I pop my sch-long out and make her get on her knees and beg me to put it back in while she's licking my balls, well, there is a feeling of power and deep satisfaction in that I just can't seem to find anywhere else.

Once in a while I get a soccer mom who desperately tries to maintain a sense of decency or some illusion of self-respect while she's getting pounded like a cheap cut of meat.

These uptight bitches are my favorites, and I have learned how to play them exactly. There is nothing more rewarding than breaking, degrading and humiliating them. I simply use her own lust to turn her into my bitch, then all I have to do is let her know who she is and enjoy that look of debasement on her face as she realizes she's my helpless little fuck-toy.

I like to leave that kind parked with all fours on the living room floor, with all three holes fucked raw and red, and her mouth full of my hot, ripe sperm.

She may not want to swallow, but she damn sure doesn't want to get any on the carpet.

I walk out the front door thinking to myself I'll never hear back from her. Then a couple of weeks later I'll get an e-mail begging to hook up again.

It's all I can do to keep myself from breaking into an end zone dance when I realize I've got one of these bitches on my line, which brings me back to the story of my temporary commute.

When I drove into Stony Brook that first day, I took a quick run through the local car wash then found the office quickly and parked my Cadillac right in the number one spot in front of the office window. A pale, slender face popped immediately up from behind the desk on the other side of the glass, like a scared rabbit poking its head out of a hole.

I walked through the front door and found myself facing the office manager, Diane, I knew right away this wasn't going to be as bad as I thought.

She was a prim, uptight little MILF straight out of my wettest dreams, standing there smoothing the front of her slacks with nervous hands.

I've fucked plenty of better looking women than Diane, but I have definitely done worse. She looked to be in her late 30's, a little shop worn, a few wrinkles, but she was still slender and elegant looking.

Shoulder length brunette hair and dark rimmed glasses framed the pale skin of her pretty face, Diane exemplified the sexy librarian look.

Her ass was a little skinnier than I normally like, but there looked to be some nice perky C cup's straining just slightly at her cotton blouse.

Diane was polite, but she couldn't disguise the fact that she didn't much like me; it was written all over her face.

She shook my hand tersely and recited a customer service welcome straight out of the company handbook as she eyed me with obvious distaste. She made eye contact briefly but it seemed to take a lot of effort.

She was really nervous, I love that. I held on to her hand a little longer than normal, long enough to visibly increase her discomfort level, but broke it off before she had the chance to. Think fast baby.

It was a little more cramped in this office than what I was used to, but I'd make do. Diane showed me around while I walked behind her.

She kept looking nervously back around as she talked, so she caught me staring at her ass within the first five minutes of my arrival.

There was the main shared office space, a small restroom and a storage room. Not much more than an eight by twenty foot closet, the storeroom had a narrow passage down the middle with broad sturdy shelves made out of 2x4's and plywood down both sides. As she walked in ahead of me and pointed out the merchandise, supplies and dusty boxes of old records, I couldn't help but picture Diane bent over the bottom shelf in front of me getting her skinny MILF ass pounded.

My desk was in the corner and shared a wall with hers. Her desk faced the front door, mine faced the wall. I guess she felt like the arrangement put me in my place, but I figured what the hell.

I laid down my case and got my desk quickly in order then got started to work on my long list of phone calls.

In the course of that first day as I chatted her up lightly, I learned that Diane was unhappy about the departure of my predecessor. I figured that was probably part of the reason she didn't like me and part of the reason I was here, which was a bit of a mystery.

She got started talking about the guy and it was obvious she worshiped him like a saint. He just sounded like a pussy to me.

As the rest of that first day went on, we asked each other the usual get-to-know-you questions, married? family? kids? My answers were "No, no and no"; she told me a little about her husband and a couple of teenage kids.

I told her I dated a lot and hadn't found that 'special girl' yet, but was having so much fun trying them out that I didn't really care. She gave a phony little laugh.

When I told her I dated girls I met online, she raised her eyebrows in obvious disapproval. When I expounded that my relationships were all no-strings-attached hookups, her expression was a humorous mix of disgust and discomfort, masked with that perfect phony smile.

She was obviously offended by my lifestyle, obviously didn't want to hear about it, but laughed uncomfortably and nodded along anyway.

The uncomfortable laugh, coupled with that puzzled, conflicted, fake smile on a woman's face, it clues me in every time; she's submissive. She could be easily manipulated.

Diane was an open book, and that first day she told me way more than she intended with her body language and the little things she said when she was concentrating on something else.

As the days went on and she adjusted to my presence in the office, Diane revealed her nervous habit of prattling on while she worked through the pile of papers on her desk.

I acted like I was listening and made sure I seemed interested in her. She was a gold mine of tantalizing information about herself, and with every day that passed, the forbidden fruit just seemed to ripen.

It made me wonder how much she would spill if she did like me, although she continually made it clear she did not.

In the course of that first week, I learned that her husband was a broker or day trader or some shit like that, and she emphasized that he was a "stay-at-home dad".

I couldn't help but wonder right away why she would be working in this dump if he was any good at his job. I noticed she didn't sport any "Broker's wife" bling. She drove a sporty but slightly dirty Japanese coup that was over ten years old and it was obvious she hadn't updated her wardrobe in a while. Of course, even I'm not rude enough call attention to those things.

I didn't get to where I am in my business without being able to quickly read people.

From the way she talked about her job it became obvious that she was resentful about having to work, and it wouldn't take Sigmund Freud to figure out that her resentment rested on good old hubby.

From what she let drop and the blanks I filled in, it sounded like he had done pretty well when they were first married. She spoke wistfully about having traveled to Italy, Singapore and a shitload of other exotic places I didn't give a fuck about.

One afternoon she got a little carried away talking and had gone on a little long about the lush life that she was obviously not living anymore. I dropped a little test question.

"So why are you working here honey, just to make a little extra shoe money?"

I could tell it hit hard and I instantly thought I might have gone too far, but she deflected without even looking up from her desk. She spoke with a barely detectable hint of resentment "I'm just doing my part to help pay the bills for a little while." She tried to put a light spin on it when she added, "And it gets me out of the house a bit."

Sure baby, whatever helps you sleep at night.

I have worked with plenty of women who didn't really need to work, and she was clearly not one of those.

From what I sussed out as she talked over the next couple of weeks, her husband's business must have crashed back in the dot com bust and never bounced back. I figured she was carrying their bills and totally dependent on this job to make ends meet.

I overheard phone conversations where she whispered the words "His depression", "anxiety meds" and whined that "all his pills are costing a fortune."

Diane expressed plenty of anxiety about what the higher ups at corporate thought of her, so it was obvious she was paranoid about her position. I should be ashamed at what a manipulative son of a bitch I am, but I'm always keeping an eye out for leverage in people's situations, especially when it comes to women I'd like to fuck.

One slow afternoon the workplace banter turned uncharacteristically spiritual, and I was just losing interest when she let drop that she grew up catholic. Kah-Ching!

She had the disciplinarian father, schoolgirl uniform, the fucked up sexual identity, the whole package.

Even though she continued to eyeball me like something that just crawled out from under a rock, Diane just got more attractive to me every day.

---0---

I adapted to the new schedule, the drive could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I learned to deal with it. It was definitely a plus having a co-worker with a nice rack to look at. It helped me to get past her annoying personality.

Diane had a lot of irksome repetitive habits that seemed to annoy the shit out of me. Like the way she always popped off with "REALLY!" out of the blue anytime anything upset her in the least, which was all the time.

As much as she talked on and on when I was in the office, she still looked at me like I was something dirty on the bottom of her shoe.

I was definitely having a hard time keeping my eyes off Diane's rack. I figured she was probably used to guys ogling her boobs, so I didn't try to hide it.

Of course, she got noticeably tense when she busted me looking. I'm sure she was used to men awkwardly shifting their eyes when that happened, so when my gaze didn't waiver, she would be the one to do the awkward looking away, along with some shoulder slumping, turning away or suddenly finding a use for the stack of papers in her hands. Sometimes she seemed to search around uselessly with her hands for something to hold to her chest, I loved that one.

Whichever manner she chose to react in, it was always a weak, submissive move, a move that a bunny might make when cornered by a wolf.

It did strike me a little odd that she chose well-fitted tops that showed the girls off a bit, nothing slutty, just form enhancing.

All the guys who call themselves "top pickup artists" say that you shouldn't ogle a prospect that you're working, that it creeps them out too much.

I don't give a fuck, I like intimidating women, especially when they are too submissive to say or do anything about it. As a pick-up tool, I can't recommend it for everyone, in every situation, but it has worked for me.

After a few more weeks of random testing and casual, subliminal probing, I was fairly confident that Diane would never be one to cry sexual harassment, no matter what I said or did. Diane was far too concerned about not rocking the boat. Hell, she was far too concerned about even being noticed by anyone in authority at all.

Catholic girls!

Thank God they put them in school with nuns and rulers. Those girls generate all that pent-up nascent sexual frustration, then they complete each others twisted sex education with their own specific tidbits of misinformation and girlish fantasy.

The nuns manage to teach them by negative reinforcement that married sex is a duty, and that the hot, sweet sex they really want is dirty, sticky, tantalizing forbidden fruit.

I'd dated enough catholic girls in high school to know that they'd put their sweet lips around cock in the back seat if they suspected they were not getting asked to prom. Of course this was always accompanied by a request not to watch her while she did it, followed right at the moment of truth by a request not to ejaculate in her mouth.

I would always agree to the terms, shoot my load on her clothes or in her hair, then ask some other girl to the prom.

All this made me have to wonder about sweet little Diane's history. Those tits must have been irresistible back in her teens, it's a sure bet she got asked out a lot. You had to wonder...

---0---

I still had to do road trips and sales calls quite a bit, so I was out of the office a lot. I gave Diane my agenda before I left and usually called and updated from the road.

One afternoon a client no-showed on me and left me with nothing to do, so I had a long lunch and headed back to the office.

I walked in to find Diane with her arms around a tall good looking guy in a nice suit. It might have been just a friendly little hug, but the way she broke it off and jumped back lead me to believe it had been going on for a while before I arrived.

The busted look on her face was priceless, and I couldn't help myself, so I blurted out. "Wow, maybe I should tell your husband that you're hugging strange men at work."

I'd never met her husband, and I would have assumed this was him if she hadn't started acting so suspiciously. I continued over to my desk and flopped casually into my chair.

Diane was red-faced and flustered, but she got her awkward little smile on and made polite introductions, "Kenneth, I don't believe you've met our new accounts rep, Derek. Derek, this is my friend Kenneth, he manages the branch in Bridgeport."

So this was the legendary Kenneth, the guy who sat in this chair before me. The name had always made me picture the Kenneth on Thirty-Rock.

I didn't get up, just nodded and smiled. Diane's phone rang right on queue, and she hopped over to look at the screen, "Oops, I have to take this!" She picked up and gave her usual uptight phone performance while he stood there, awkwardly.

I still had my sunglasses on and was eying him like a cop, smiling, getting things figured out here. Kenneth tried small talk, asking if I liked working in Stony Brook, which I answered with a shoulder shrug, and an "It's alright."

I just sat there stretched out in my big leather chair watching the show while Kenneth nervously waited for Diane to get off the phone.

She gave him a little "One minute!" hand motion and mouthed a little pouty faced "I'm sorry!"

Diane was acting unusually stiff as she talked on the phone, even for a broad who was normally pretty uptight.

Kenneth was a tall, good looking guy with a friendly face and wavy blonde hair. You could tell he was the sort of guy who was fussy about his appearance, probably fucked around with his hair for a half hour in the morning. His suit and shoes were impeccable. He was obviously hot for Diane; that much was clear as he hovered there nervously watching her.