The Secretary

All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive constructive feedback and frequent "fives".

Ever jacked off into a public restroom urinal? Well, I have. You'd be very surprised what lecherous, hedonistic, pagan thoughts lurk behind the eyes of the average man. By all outward appearance I look like everyone else -- clean cut, well-groomed; a family man with happy kids. My neighbors would swear I'm the nicest guy they ever met, but most of the men would punch me out if they knew what lascivious thoughts I was thinking about their chubby, bubbly wives. I smile as I stand in line at the bank, and the whole time I'm fantasizing about crouching under the counter and eating the pretty young teller out while she tries to keep a straight face for her growing line of suspicious customers. When I meet a woman in business for the first time I try to picture what she looks like giving a blow job. Does she do it with happy, slobbering gusto, or make ugly faces and act like it's a chore?

You get the picture. Ladies, every guy you meet is smiling at you and exchanging platitudes, but behind those eyes he is most likely picturing you bent over the nearby table, or counter, or whatever, and fucking you silly. Gentlemen, what if you could actually fulfill one of those fantasies? What if fickle fate handed you a royal flush and you went all-in?

****

My secretary is beginning to piss me off. Maria Gomez is pretty, smart, undeniably beautiful, bilingual, prompt, and confidently competent at her job; but she sure spends an inordinate amount of time deeply involved in time consuming hushed conversations on her cell phone. Since it rarely seems to interfere with her getting her work done, I never make a big deal over it, but yesterday her conversation ended with her trembling, and a look of fear flashed in her smoky dark eyes as she flipped the phone closed.

"Something wrong, Miss Gomez?"

"Um, nothing, sir...just the usual -- family problems."

Her Hispanic accent is noticeable, reflecting her Mexican heritage. I know she has lived in the USA for several years; her green card says her home state is Oaxaca, somewhere down near Mexico City. She plans on taking her citizenship exam soon and is very proud to hopefully become an American.

On this particular day she looked ravishing as usual, tastefully dressed in a plush, velvety green skirt and silky cream blouse, definitely a color well suited to her dark chestnut hair and warm light chocolate complexion. Her skirt, when sitting down, often rides scandalously high up her slender, tanned thighs. She has a wonderful proclivity for short, stylish skirts. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of the tops of her sexy silk stockings peeking out from beneath her hem. I know she knows I am looking, because she will surreptitiously tug the hem down, and a blush creeps up her slim neck.

Maria doesn't try to dress or act provocatively -- it just comes naturally for her. She is one of those wholesome girl-next-door beauties who tries hard to downplay her stunning good looks, but it just makes her all the more alluring. She is about a petite size four I suppose, and if I had to guess, I would say her bra size is a 34-C. All I know is that when she wears a v-necked sweater, her cleavage is amazing. Not that she has enormous breasts, they just seem quite large on her small frame. And they defy gravity.

I gently patted her on the shoulder and turned to head back into my office.

"Let me know if I can help in any way, Miss Gomez."

Our relationship is very businesslike. I am chief operating officer of a mid-sized, publicly-traded national auto parts distributor whose clientel list includes names such as Ford, Chevrolet, Nissan, Toyota, and others. During office hours, I refer to Maria as "Miss Gomez," and she respectfully calls me "Sir" or "Mr. Winters." We rarely talk about issues outside of work, and even when I went through a tough divorce from my cheating wife of seventeen years, Maria kept her distance from me.

I can't help but notice Maria's stunning good looks. Her legs are long and shapely; her perfectly rounded ass taut and muscular under her tight, short skirts; her long, curly, chestnut brown hair lustrous and shiny. I try not to leer, as our company has strict sexual harassment rules, but sometimes I just can't help myself. She is an unattainable goddess, and I am an old, washed up, paunchy, balding man.

****

The secretive phone calls continued throughout the week, and Maria's demeanor darkened with each conversation. I was becoming increasingly irritated with the frequency of the calls, but I couldn't really comment on them, since her work continued without a hitch.

That is, until Thursday. In addition to being my personal secretary, Maria is also a purchasing clerk, helping out since recent budget cuts have all of us doing several jobs. On Thursday I watched her take $140 out of petty cash to pay one of our smaller vendors. When the invoice came across my desk to be signed later that day, I noticed a small smudge over the invoice total. Warning bells went off in my head, and I phoned the vendor and asked them to e-mail me a copy of the invoice in question. Sure enough, the invoice from the vendor was for $40, not $140.

Maria had altered the total and apparently pocketed the difference. My first thought was to call her in and fire her, but in the interests of building a bureaucratic "paper fortress" I decided to do a bit more snooping.

At five o'clock she packed up and headed out the door. I went directly to the hardcopy files and started perusing the smaller invoices, starting with the vendor from earlier. Sure enough, after about an hour I had a stack of invoices all with the same discrepancy. If I had to guess, just with the ones I had found, I was looking at $3,000 - $4,000 in theft.

I booted up her computer and started going through her files. Under "deleted items" in outlook express, I found an e-mail that sparked my interest:

__________________________

From: Julio Gomez

Date: November 2, 2009

To: Maria Gomez

Subject: Ayudame!

Maria,

I need more money! If I dont pay up by next week they gonna bust me up bad! That scam works great, but I need more! Call me!!!!

Julio

__________________________

I didn't know if the scam Julio was ayudame-ing about was her petty cash pilfering or something else entirely. I continued my search, looking for something bigger. I was just about to call it a night when an unfamiliar name caught my eye. Under a list of suppliers, a company jumped out at me: Halifax Imports, Ltd. I'd never heard of Halifax Imports, but on a spreadsheet in Maria's computer she listed them as a vendor to whom we had paid over $40,000.00 over the last few months.

I entered Halifax into a google desktop search and was surprised and chagrined to see over twenty invoices pop up. Each was for an average of around $2,000.00, and each was signed for payment by...me. At least that is what I thought at first. After closer scrutiny I realized that in each case Maria had expertly forged my signature. A slow burn crept up my scalp and set my teeth on edge.

I did an internet business search and looked up Halifax Imports, LTD. Nothing stood out about the company until I checked the primary contacts. Apparently one "Mariposa Gomez" was the president and sole proprietor of the company. Mariposa, as I recalled, was the name of Maria's elderly mother, over whom I knew she had financial power of attorney. Pretty sneaky. Maria had set up a shell company under her own mother's name, and was probably transferring the checks from Halifax's account to her own, or cashing them outright.

I printed off copies of the evidence and shut down her computer. Sitting at my desk in my office I pondered the situation. Embezzlement and grand larceny are pretty serious crimes. Maria would probably have to do some hard time for her theft, and most likely be deported back to Mexico after her ordeal. Not to mention that by using her mother's name she had unwittingly exposed her own mother to a potential lawsuit and legal recriminations.

I was starting to look at this from a blackmail angle. Maria was young and beautiful, and I was -- well, middle-aged and horny. An old saying my father taught me came to mind: old age and treachery defeats youth and enthusiasm every time. I whistled while I stacked up my copies of doctored petty cash invoices and phony Halifax invoices and placed them in a cream file folder.

****

The next day, Friday, I was in the office bright and early. I called the receptionist desk and informed them that I would be on a morning long conference call with one of our biggest customers and was not to be disturbed. I also told them that Miss Gomez would be sitting in on the call taking notes.

I was nervous, yet excited at the same time. Maria came in right at 8:30 on the dot, her normal time. She looked smoking hot, as usual, wearing a charcoal business suit complete with nice short skirt and black stockings -- the kind with that sexy black line that runs up the back of the leg. Her hair looked slightly rumpled, however, and when she looked in on me to ask if I wanted a cup of coffee, her eyes were red and streaked, her mascara running slightly, as if she had been crying and recently tried to fix it.

"Miss Gomez, come inside and shut the door behind you."

"Yes, sir," she almost whispered in response. Puzzled, she came in, shut the door, and stood nervously in front of me, as if waiting for me to tell her to sit down.

"Please sit," I gestured towards one of the comfortable chairs placed facing the front of my large mahogany desk. She settled down and sat with hands in her lap, long legs crossed at the ankles, her pretty face tight with tension. "Is something wrong, Miss Gomez?"

"I'm sorry, sir. My b-brother, I mean, my -- I'm having more f-family problems..." She could barely get the words out, stifling sobs as she softly spoke.

"Is your brother Julio in some sort of trouble?" I inquired, steepling my fingers in front of me.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, he owes some people, some bad people quite a lot of money. He had to go on the run -- I think he's somewhere back in Mexico."

I stood up and moved around to the front of the desk, leaning back on it and looked down at her. She peered up at me, her dark eyes knit in consternation, not knowing what I was up to. I reached out and picked up the manila folder off my desk and handed it to her. "Please look at these, if you would, Miss Gomez."

She opened the file and for a moment said nothing. Then she gasped and her hand flew to her open mouth. She made a strangled sound and the file folder slipped to the floor, the sheets scattering under her chair. Her eyes grew wide as saucers and tears began to form.

"As near as I can tell, you have embezzled something close to $50,000.00 in the last six months, Miss Gomez. That is quite a large sum, even for a company our size. The legal penalties would be rather drastic. You are looking at probably ten to twenty years hard time, plus deportation from the United States upon your release. Oh, and your mother is Mariposa Gomez, correct?"

Maria's mouth worked, but no sound came out. She sat there staring up at me in abject terror, her hands shaking like leafs, face as white as a freshly laundered sheet.

Knowing the outcome of this meeting, I had intentionally worn loose boxer shorts under my pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit pants. I could feel myself starting to grow and harden, and my manhood shifted in the crotch of my trousers. The movement caught her eye, and for a moment she gaped at the tent, gasping for breath. Her eyes rolled back up at me in panic.

"S-s-sir, please...I can't go to prison, I just can't. M-my parents wouldn't make it without me -- they are too old and have no one else..."

I sighed deeply and leaned back, my cock straining at the crotch of my fine, pressed slacks. Her eyes kept moving down to peer at the obscene bulge, then would dart away.

"I'd say you are in quite a desperate situation, Miss Gomez. With one phone call I could have cops crawling all over this place. With what I have here -- and by the way, copies of everything are with my lawyer in case anything happens to me -- with what I have here, the police would have no option but to search your home as well, possibly impound it, cordon it off until they search it thoroughly. It would be too bad if your elderly parents had to find somewhere else to live, wouldn't it? And using your mother as the owner of your shell company could mean prison time for her as well."

Tears began pouring out of her huge brown eyes; she alternated between looking imploringly up at me and casting sidelong glances down at the hard cock outlined by my wool pants. I could see her conscience battling, deciding if she should offer what she knew I was seeking, or make me drag it out of her. At my comment about her parents being thrown out of their own home she gasped again and her hands clutched at my thighs.

"Please, Mr. Winters, please. Don't call the police -- my parents are too old -- they would be homeless. My mother would die in prison. P-p-please, I had to do it -- th-they were going to hurt mi hermano bad. He-he said they would break his legs and cut up his f-f-face." Her voice lowered to a whisper, "I'll do anything -- anything at all."

She was clutching my thighs, her hands about six inches above my knees, her chin about eight inches from my trouser zipper. She looked up at me, tears streaming from her huge, dark eyes, her mussed hair thick and curly, and cascading down her back. Under her charcoal suit jacket she wore a thin, silky, silver-sheened blouse. Her ample chest heaved and I could see wetness from tears trickling into her cleavage.

Time stood still as I looked down at her. I cupped her chin with one hand, with the other I reached down and slowly unzipped myself. Her eyes grew wide and she gulped in nervousness as I slowly drew my cock out of my pants.

I stroked myself to my fully hard seven inches and pointed the fat, purple cockhead towards her lips just inches away.

"Open up, Miss Gomez. I need you to suck my cock -- suck it until I cum, and swallow everything."

She gulped, and with a final resigned ragged sob she tentatively opened her mouth and softly sucked the spongy head between her beautiful, red lips. Her tongue flicked the underside, and her hands clenched my thighs.

I grabbed a handful of her thick curly hair and began directing her with gentle tugs, moving her mouth up and down my shaft. She mewled as she sucked, the vibrations sending chills up and down my legs.

I pulled my full, taut balls out through the opening in my pants and pulled her mouth off my cock.

"Lick my balls, Maria, lick them thoroughly. I love having my balls slurped and licked."

She stifled a sob, and then began lathing my balls with her tongue, licking up and down each one, her tongue sometimes slurping under them, reaching back to my sensitive perineum. When she had licked them until they were shiny and wet I popped my fully distended fat cock head back into her mouth and pulled her down onto my throbbing shaft. "No hands...just use your mouth," I instructed. "Get on your knees, Miss Gomez, suck me off like a cheap back-alley five dollar whore."

I switched to a two-handed method and grasped her head tightly by two handfuls of thick, curly hair, pulling her mouth up and down. She gagged each time I pulled her face down, and struggled to pull her mouth off my cock. Having none of that, I forcefully fed her all seven inches, until she was gagging and weeping -- her mascara running in rivers down her cheeks. She would muffle protests with each downward push of her head, and strain to keep from choking on my shaft. Every few sucks I would push down on the back of her head, forcing her mouth down a little farther and causing her to grunt in shock. When I felt she was at her breaking point from lack of oxygen, tightly fisting a clump of unruly hair, I would yank her hot mouth off my cock and let her gasp for air for a few seconds, then thrust her face back down. Feeling my balls start to tingle I speeded up her sucks, forcing her up and down my hard shaft, my swollen balls making a wet smack, smack, smack staccato as they slapped her chin.

"Keep sucking, Miss Gomez, that's it...just... a ... little...MORE!"

At the word "more" I arched my back and exploded into her mouth, fountaining a gargantuan torrent of hot, salty cum down her throat. She gagged and pushed against my knees, trying to pull herself off, but I held her down by the top of her head.

"Suck it down, Miss Gomez! Swallow it all! Don't you dare let any cum get on my suit pants," I admonished harshly.

She was crying pitifully, her hands gripping my legs, sucking up and down my shaft as gush after gush of my salty seed poured into her hot mouth. I made her suck me until there was barely a drop left, then I popped my half-mast shaft out of her mouth. A couple milky white feeble spurts dribbled out and landed on her full lips and cheek. She gasped for air and panted, looking up at me through red, bloodshot eyes, black mascara caked under her big, dark eyes.

"Lick it, Miss Gomez, lick my shaft until it shines."

I held my cock shaft sideways in front of her and pulled her mouth to it. She groaned and reluctantly began licking it, slurping wetly up one side and down the other, until it was spotless and clean. She even spent a few minutes thoroughly licking my spent, hanging balls, until they tingled pleasantly.

Finally I stepped back and let go of her thick hair. She slumped to the floor, propping herself up precariously by one trembling hand and arm, her head hanging.

I let her sit on the floor panting for a few minutes, slowly stroking my slick cock, up and down. Seeing our reflections in my office wall-to-ceiling window (we were thirty stories up in a downtown high rise overlooking a river), I smiled. I looked as crisp and tidy as ever -- my dark blue Brooks Brothers suit immaculate as always, my thinning salt-and-pepper hair perfectly coiffed. The only thing out of place was the fat, shiny, wet erection poking obscenely out the front of my pants -- and the bedraggled Mexican girl crumpled at my feet.

Miss Gomez was a beaten, whipped puppy. Her business suit was wrinkled, her chest was heaving, her hair hanging wildly down over her eyes and draping the carpet underneath her.

I patted her on the head. "Good job, Miss Gomez. My ex-wife never sucked me dry like you just did." I reached down and gently took her by the elbow. "Stand up and let's get these clothes off of you now."

She didn't even resist as I stood her up and led her around my desk. I positioned her right in front of my enormous brown leather office chair, turned facing me, her beautiful ass pressing up against the edge of the desk. I sat down in front of her and reached up and began unbuttoning her suit jacket. She made a motion to try to stop me, grasping at my hands.

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Gomez. Keep your hands down -- just remember; one phone call and you'll be in prison for years." Within seconds I had her jacket off, her silky silver blouse completely unbuttoned and was staring with wonder at her beautiful tits practically bursting out of a black satin bra. The tops of her dark brown areolas peeked over the edges of the satiny cups, making my mouth water. I held back a desire to rip the garment off of her, deciding to make her do it herself.