The Intern

I dropped off the flowers, grabbed my purse and took the elevator up to the nearly empty C-suite. Trudy the Rabid Admin had stayed late and practically x-rayed me as she looked for any sign of damage to Forrester's shirt. I held up my arms like a person being arrested and turned so she could see the back of the shirt, too. I saw Forrester lean his head through the partially open door with a bemused look on his face. "I'll see you in here when Trudy is done with you, Gillian," he said in a dry tone.

"Leave the shirt on the hanger your sweater is on and I'll have it cleaned. He doesn't need it smelling like whatever trash perfume that is," she said, shutting down her computer and getting ready to leave for the day. I frowned because I wasn't wearing any perfume... must have been the roses.

"Yes, ma'am," I answered. That was the second time I'd called her "ma'am" today, which I usually consider excessive cruelty to a woman of a certain age, but in her case, my conscience was clear. I left her shaking her head and entered Forrester's office with more casual ease than I felt.

Forrester was reading his laptop, lounging back in one of a set of leather chairs next to a round coffee table. By the light of the screen, I was surprised to realize that he was probably in his early forties, younger than I first thought. Young for a CFO, anyway. He'd hung his jacket and tie behind the desk, and his white dress shirt had a couple buttons undone. I found myself wondering what his natural scent would be if I opened his collar just a little and smelled his neck. I'd have to sit in his lap to do it properly, of course. Looking back to his face, I was startled to see that he wasn't reading anymore... well, not reading his laptop anyway.

"Did you pass inspection?" he asked, returning to his laptop with a smile.

I laughed. "Yes. Thank God. She was threatening me with bankruptcy if I messed up your Kamakura... I haven't eaten all day out of sheer terror."

He chuckled ruefully, "Good thing she didn't realize it was the Charvet... she'd have had you followed."

At the label name, my legs buckled and I did a slow-motion collapse into the other chair. No wonder the shirt felt so damn good. Forrester continued reading, the smile on his face growing slightly evil. "Why... why would you let me walk around in a shirt that's worth more than my car? Are you crazy?" I asked when enough my breath returned.

"Why would you fondle the derriere of a perfect stranger in your employer's elevator?" he shot back.

"Lint." I was going with lint on that one, and no one would argue me out of it. I'd die at the stake before admitting otherwise.

"Coffee stain..." he replied, scrolling down on the page he was on. "I'd like to have dinner with you, tonight, if you're free," he said. Ohshitfuckbloodyhell. Before I knew it, my heart was hammering in my chest, a sheen of sweat breaking out over my body. For reasons I don't care to go into right now, I was terrified... and bad things happened when I was terrified. More accurately, I made bad things happen when I was terrified. A claxon was going off in my head and everything in me locked into what I call "bunker mode."

"Why?" I asked, not terribly surprised to hear the word come out of my mouth. My verbal nightmares often begin with the word "why." Forrester looked up at me in surprised confusion. Then, it just got worse. "Why dinner, I mean? It's kinda arbitrary if you think about it. Why would we go eat some food together and endure two hours of forced, awkward conversation, when it's really just window dressing so that we can feel good about having an orgasm at the end of the night." Stop talking Gillian! What's wrong with you? No wait, why not explain your perfectly rational thinking and make it all worse! Great idea! So, of course I continued, "You and I have absolutely nothing in common, and despite what the billionaire/shop-girl porn would have you think, pretending you have a connection with someone just so you can have few orgasms tends to kill your soul. So, it would probably be better for everyone concerned if we skipped dinner and I just gave you a hummer now without any pretense and went home to watch Netflix. Then, after that, we can ignore each other and pretend it didn't happen." Oh my God, why hasn't anyone committed me to an insane asylum yet? Am I surrounded by incompetent people?

Forrester stared at me for the longest time, and the playfulness was gone from his face, replaced by something I couldn't really name. Whatever it was in his face, I felt sad and guilty to have put it there. But then, the look was gone and he seemed to be doing a math problem in his head. When it seemed that he solved the problem, he looked back at me. "So, instead of going out to dinner with me, you'd rather just give me a blow job and go home alone?"

I gave him a shrug.

He cocked his head, "Ouch. Doesn't seem like you would get much out of it... unless there's something you'd like me to—"

"Well, I... I don't really like being touched by strangers, is the thing," I confessed, coming perilously close to something inside me that hurt. His eyes narrowed slightly and that strange not-quite-sad look came back to his face. Before either of us could dwell too much on it, I continued, "Besides, there's plenty of things a woman can enjoy about giving head to a man," I said, raising my skirt slightly and going to my knees in front of him.

He sat up, surprised, like he wasn't expecting that. I guess he thought I brought it up as a hypothetical. That happens to me a lot. He wasn't offended, though, and he certainly didn't have an entitled air about it that you'd expect from one of the masters of the universe type. I hated blowing guys like that.

Forrester uncrossed his legs and spread his knees, the expression on his face changing to one of uncertain wonder. I raised my hands to his knees, touching that buttery wool for a second time today, meeting his eyes furtively. "What I mean is, we get to see you... sitting there like a king, in a world where everything is right," I said, running my hands lightly along his thighs, feeling his firm muscles, alive and humming with restrained energy.

I reached up, my eyes not leaving his as I unclasped his belt and unbuttoned his pants. "There's anticipation... the intimate moment of seeing what God gave you for the first time, seeing you watching for my reaction to it. It's something vulnerable, yet proud. Hopeful and hungry. It's exciting, knowing that someone who has everything is almost holding his breath for something I can give him... oh yeah, wait a sec—" I said, remembering the shirt and I began to stand to go take it off, when he put his hands on my shoulders to hold me in place. I tensed almost imperceptibly.

"Sorry," he said, lifting his hands away immediately and holding them in the air slightly, "I'm sorry... but please," he said, running his fingers along the loose folds of the luscious fabric instead, "please, don't take it off. Keep it on... I was hard through the rest of that meeting, seeing you wearing it."

I smiled slightly and wiggled closer to him between his knees. His eyes were hooded, watching and waiting for me to continue. I ran my hands over the insistent bulge along his leg. "I love feeling it throbbing, growing... my mouth beginning to water as I wonder what you will taste like." I slowly released his zipper as he raised his hips, allowing me to slide them down further. His cock visibly jumped inside his boxer briefs and I giggled, meeting his eyes with a grin. His eyes bright now, he sat up, reaching out as if to cup my face, but remembering and stopping short, he covered for it and pulled his briefs down instead.

Grateful, I brushed my cheek against his warm inner thigh and looked at his hard cock, standing at attention. He was breathing heavily now. I couldn't wait to hear him groan. "We love hearing the sounds you make, sounds you're not even aware of, because you're lost in sensation," I said, putting my lips to the bottom of his cock and devouring it with soft, nibbling kisses up to the sensitive tip. His hands clenched on the arms of his chair, his breath hissing through his teeth. "Then I wonder what it would feel like to have it pushing inside me, throbbing hard and hot... pounding in, destroying me, holding nothing back," I whispered, running my tongue around the head and then down along the shaft whetting it in long licks. I noticed his hands clenching and unclenching, then I met his eyes and went lower, softly sucking on his balls and giggling when he gripped the arms of his chair and groaned. He obviously loved it, so I stayed there a while, gently kissing and playing with the soft sacs.

Rising up again, I reached up and released the last few buttons holding his shirt together, revealing a beautifully toned torso, flexing in need as he tried to keep control of himself. I went back to his cock and circled his sensitive head with a wet fingertip as I watched his jaw clench. "I get to feel you sliding inside my mouth, pushing down into my throat again and again, tasting you, feeling your body tense as you surge and swell, twitching as you pulse your salty cum inside me..." I said, and unable to wait any longer, I took him in my mouth. I was so worked up, I almost came when he raised his hips slightly to meet me.

Sealing my lips around him, I raised my eyes to his and slid him out of my mouth with agonizing slowness, sucking him like I meant it. I did mean it. I was loving everything about having his cock in my mouth. I dove down on him again and again, watching him the entire time, seeing his face contort almost in pain, slacken in pleasure, clutching the arms of the chair, trying desperately to respect my wish for him not to touch me.

"Please..." he rasped, "please..." he ground out through his teeth. With one look, I understood what he needed. I nodded and relaxed my throat, winding my hands down around his hips. He began pumping his hips, steadily pushing himself further and further down into my throat. He moaned in time to his thrusts and the "gluk, gluk, gluk, gluk, gluk" sounds coming out of my throat, losing himself and yet still trying to take care. I took my hands from under his bucking hips to the arm of the chair, clasping his and bringing them to the back of my head where I knew he wanted to hold me. And strangely, I wanted it... I wanted his touch, too. He cried out and stood up over me, pumping his cock into my throat, holding my head in his hands as he thrust his hips, "Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh! Yes! Nnnh! I'm coming! Fuck! I'm coming! Aaaaaaaaahhh!"

He pushed deep and held there, his almost wild eyes watching me, as rope after rope of cum burst out of him, pulling out to let me breathe and spill the last few spurts on my tongue. He collapsed back into the chair, gasping for breath with his eyes closed. I swallowed and crawled back to him and lovingly cleaned his cock, before tucking it back into his briefs.

I couldn't hold it in anymore and I kicked off my pumps and ran to the bathroom. Hiking up my skirt, I barely needed to touch my clit before I came hard, crying out and shaking against the wall. As quickly as I came, it took me forever to come down, so I rubbed myself more, coming again and again until the crazy restless heat was out of my system. My mind fed me images of him struggling with himself, the sounds of his pleasure, the feel of him moving inside me, filling me again and again... and my body only too ready to surrender to him. Wave after wave of shuddering pleasure passed through me and I cried out softly, fulfilled and empty at the same time. Weak, I slid down against the wall to the tile floor, panting with my eyes closed, waiting for the blood to return to my head.

When I opened my eyes again, I was chagrined to see him watching me, leaning against the frame of the open door, his shirt and pants undone, his cock still bulging half-hard in his briefs. He looked like he just walked out of a fucking GQ ad... but, you know, intelligent and straight. I just looked like an unpaid intern on the bathroom floor, wearing her boss' shirt and with some of his cum still in her mouth. Worse, instead of focusing on getting through the next ten months, I had fantasized about something impossible for someone like me. I glanced up again to see that he had squatted down next to me, and was watching me, silently. Embarrassed, I pushed myself up off the floor, keeping my hand on the wall for balance. "Um... sorry, I'll be out of your hair in a second," I said, turning my back to him and pulling off his shirt and pulling my sweater on quickly.

I carefully hung the beautiful Charvet shirt, aware of his eyes on me as I did it. I straightened the collar, unrolled the sleeves, and gently tugged the folds and wrinkles out until it was perfect. Except that it wasn't perfect. Not anymore. "Shit... oh, shit..." I said, breaking out in a cold sweat, grabbing some paper towels and wetting them. "I thought I got it all, but I must've... shit... there's a bit of..." I trailed off, frantically dabbing the wet towels on the shirt, trying to remove the semen stain without damaging the fabric.

"Hey... hey, it's okay," he said, coming into the bathroom and covering my shaking hands with his. "It's all right... I did that. I saw it happen when my guy left your lips... he shot one more time, like he didn't want it to end. It was amazing and sexy as hell... certainly nothing to apologize for," he said, his face filled with an uncomprehending concern that embarrassed me even more. I took my hands back out of his and turned, clearing my throat and discreetly wiping the tears off my face while I threw away the towels.

I gave a feeble laugh, "Easy for you to say... Trudy's gonna kill me," I said, dabbing dry towels on the spot and holding it up to the light to see if it was gone or not.

He took the hanger, pulling the shirt out of my reach. "She'll never know," he assured me. "I'll have it cleaned and bring it in tomorrow. If there's anyone that's able to make a shirt that you can get cum out of, it's the French," he said, matter-of-factly.

I snorted, turned away from him and started giggling, in spite of myself. He leaned over, checking whether I was laughing or crying, then nodded once, satisfied. I ducked my head away from him again and walked around him, out of the bathroom.

His office looked different now, all his puzzles were bathed in a golden, rosy glow. The wall of windows faced west and the silent sun, the only witness to our interlude, was setting beyond the forest preserve. It stopped me, making every thought in my buzzing mind fade in its impossible beauty. Forrester came to stand beside me and watched it set, the shirt hung over his shoulder on his fingers. The back of his hand brushed mine, almost softly enough to be in my imagination, and I turned my head slightly to look at him from the side of my eye. The fading light and the lingering tears in my eyes seemed to make him shimmer, like a god that had come down to Earth to indulge in mortal pleasures for a time. He was achingly beautiful. The part of me that would never be satisfied wanted him to turn and kiss me, but the rational part of me was grateful that he didn't. Things didn't go well for mortals that got mixed up with the gods.

Turning away, I quickly found my purse and only one shoe. "You're going?" he asked, turning to find me on my hands and knees searching the floor for my other pump.

I nodded, sitting and putting the one shoe on my uncooperative foot while leaning over, still scanning the floor for the other. "I found it," he said, making me jump with his unexpected closeness. He held up my worn pump with a smile, "May I?" he asked, kneeling in front of me. I nodded again, wishing I could think of a reason to do it for myself. His warm hands took my foot and raised it to his thigh, gently massaging the ball of the toes and my ankle. My eyelids fluttered and surprised breathy noise of pleasure escaped me. He met my eyes with a mischievous look of triumph and I pulled my foot out of his hands, blushing. It was a strange sensation... I didn't think I could blush anymore. He hooked the shoe over my toes without touching me again, with a wink and a sly smile on his lips. Furious with myself for reasons I didn't understand, I wiggled my foot into the shoe with unnecessary haste and made for the door.

Forrester walked with me to the door and opened it, narrowly though, maneuvering me into the small space between his body and the frame of the door. His pants were still loose, his shirt undone... I took a mental picture for a keepsake, telling myself to enjoy it because it was probably the last time he would look me in the eye again. His eyes were brown, yet bright, taking me in like a fawn exploring the world in the spring. They were eyes filled with an easy love, the kind you see in a child that had never been disappointed. How could a man his age look at me with eyes like that? He didn't know me... even I didn't know me. I lowered my eyes and nodded my goodbye to him, ending the fantasy that any of this mattered.

As I passed, I felt him brush the back of my hand again, and I stopped in the doorway. Turning my head, I waited for him to say whatever he had to say. These guys... they always wanted to say one last thing that ignored what had just happened, or turned the intimate encounter into some kind of joke that could be dismissed. Something to erase everything and re-set the relationship, like Superman kissing away Lois' memory of them being lovers at the end of Superman 2. Boy, that was a guy's fantasy if there ever was one. Do whatever you want with the girl and then wipe it away when it gets awkward. What if Lois didn't really forget? What if she just let Superman think what he wanted to think, because that's just what mortals do when the gods want something from them?

I braced myself for the incoming bullshit, but he just stood there, his fingertips brushing mine, his gentle eyes gauging my reaction as he gradually took my hand in his. "You know, I've thought of a problem with your 'soul-saving orgasms in lieu of dinner and false pretenses theory,'" he murmured, brushing his thumb against the backs of my fingers. Goosebumps ran up my arm and down my spine. Somehow the gesture was more intimate than anything that had preceded it that day. In my world of falling ass-backwards into meaningless sex, a grown man's slight, but deliberate, touch shook me. I found myself in unfamiliar territory, his gentleness calming me and the intimacy terrifying me to no end. Transfixed and wordless, I watched him slowly lift my fingertips to his mouth and kiss them.

"Wh-what problem...?" I asked, watching him rub the kiss into my fingertips with his own. I closed my eyes, trying to keep control, trying to stay in my busy head, trying to keep safely away from where his fingers and lips were irresistably inviting me to go.

Still holding my fingers, Forrester leaned down and whispered the answer in my ear, touching it only with his breath, "I'm still hungry, Gillian."