I sat at my desk, in my tiny cubicle, on a typical Tuesday morning, clicking away on my computer. As I edited the spreadsheet in front of me, my mind drifted to my boss, just down the hall, in his large office. He was a heavier man, with short dark hair. I found him oddly handsome. His chocolate brown eyes glared out under dark thick lashes, and even thicker eyebrows. That's how he looked—he glared. It wasn't easy to find him in a friendly mood. Not that he was rude. He was just . . . intense. Besides, I rationalized to myself, he kept a professional distance. He just didn't like to show his emotions. It made him all the more attractive.
To be honest, I was still trying to figure him out. I had only been his secretary—sorry, I mean "administrative assistant"—for a little over a month now, and I had a hard time working for him. It took me less than a week to figure out that he despises small talk. Any excessive talking or niceties at all were pretty much useless in his eyes. He also didn't respond to flattery at all. It just made me uncomfortable, because I couldn't read him, or figure out if my work was pleasing him. So here I sat, going above and beyond to impress my boss who hardly noticed me at all.
I even started worrying more about my appearance. Usually, I had no problem working with men. Men were supposed to be easy. They were supposed to be easily flattered that a pretty woman was impressed by them. Or willing to do what I asked when I said it with a smile and a flutter of the eyelashes. I worried that my looks weren't helping me as much as they usually did. So, every morning for the last two and a half weeks, I woke up an extra 45 minutes early to curl my long dark blonde hair, and apply makeup to compliment my green eyes and fair skin. I even applied lipstick every day—something I had always refused to wear.
I went shopping to update my wardrobe with cute matching business skirt suits, and silk blouses that draped nicely across my breasts, and stockings. I was tempted to buy more heels, but I already had a nice collection, and had gone a bit overboard on the skirts. It was a struggle to find them in a tasteful length, so some were a bit short for the office, only coming down to mid-thigh.
I was wearing one of those today, in charcoal grey, with a matching blazer, which was draped across the back of my chair, and a deep purple blouse that made me green eyes pop. I forwent the stockings today, because the tops would have shown and looked slutty with my skirt. I also wasn't wearing panties today because I was behind on laundry and didn't buy any new ones on my shopping expedition. I kept tugging at my skirt, especially when I was sitting, to make sure I wouldn't flash anyone walking by my cubicle.
I glanced at my clock. 10:48. I only had 12 minutes until my daily meeting with my boss. I quickly finalized my report, and sent it to the printer. I stood and smoothed down my skirt and sauntered over to the printer in the middle of the large office. I could feel some of the men's eyes on me as I walked over to get my papers. Conscious of their gaze, I stood tall with my shoulders back and chest out, and added a bit of a sway to my hips. I smiled and made eye contact with a few on my way. It felt like victory when each of them gave a tight smile back, and shifted nervously. They all quickly looked back down at their work like it was the most compelling job they ever had. Making men nervous was always great fun.
After I collected the papers off the printer into a folder, I returned to my desk with five minutes left before my meeting. I could feel myself growing nervous. We met everyday, and everyday, he made me nervous. I would walk to his door, a confident woman, and as soon as I took a single step inside, I felt like a vulnerable little girl. He was always very commanding and he would hardly look at me. I'd stutter through my report and feel like a failure when he dismissed me. All I wanted was to impress him. For him to think I was valuable, and useful. Just sitting at my desk, I could feel my heart beat faster and my hands clam up a bit. I was going to make him take notice today. I would speak clearly, concisely, and assertively. I practiced my little summary in my head, for when he asked.
I stood with a minute to go, and walked tall down the narrow hall to the thick wooden door. I knocked three times, a bit quieter than I had intended. When he bade me entrance, I turned the knob and walked a few steps in.
"Shut the door." I closed it, then turned back to him. He was staring intently at his computer screen. As I watched him, my heart skipped a beat. He really was so handsome. And powerful. I walked on shaky legs to stand by the low leather chair in front of his desk.
"Sit." I quickly obeyed, remembering to adjust my skirt so that I didn't flash him my naked cunt. Now that I thought about it, I felt so exposed. I could feel the cold air on me, and realized that I was really wet. It was something I couldn't explain. It had happened before, when he ordered me around like this. I chose to ignore it. But it was hard. Great day to not wear panties, I sarcastically thought. I just hoped that I didn't make a spot on my skirt. I already felt indecent enough.
I was sitting there, waiting, calming myself down, for about two minutes before he finally turned to me. Our eyes met, and for the tiniest second, I thought I saw something in his. A quick flash of something. Dangerous-like. Maybe he knows, I thought. Maybe he knows that he makes me nervous. Or worse, he knows that I'm sitting here, without any panties on, and a wet pussy, like a slut. The thought made me blush and I quickly broke eye contact to stare at the floor.
"So, Miss Craig, what do you have for me this morning?" he looked at me, noticeably bored with the whole routine.
"T-the typical, s-sir. Nothing interesting today. The numbers are a little off, but it looks like nothing." I blushed again. Damn it! I stuttered. I wasn't going to stutter! It was that damned question that threw me off. It had me thinking of other things I could offer him this morning. Things that might interest him a bit more. I shook my head slightly, to clear my head.
He stood up from his large chair and quietly walked around the large wooden desk, his fingers gliding gently behind him. He came to stand at my right. I was hesitant to meet his gaze again and kept my eyes down. I looked over to find his crotch exactly level with my shoulders, because the chair was so low. I noticed a slight bulge in his pants, and my breath hitched a bit. I could see the edge of the head defined against his grey slacks. I quickly tried to convince myself that he wasn't standing in front of me with a hard on—that's ridiculous. He just must be a bit . . . larger, than I was familiar with. I looked up at his face, tilting my head because he was standing so close, and I saw the recognition in his eyes. I had stared too long! He looked amused. I could feel my face burn with embarrassment, the blush spreading down my chest.
"Stand," he commanded. I did, quickly. So quickly, that I spilled my papers across the floor in front of me and pushed my chair noisily back. I chanced another glance at him and found him . . . smiling? He was close. So close I could feel his breath on the my cheek. I raised my eyes from his lips to his stare. That dangerous look was there. Plain as day. He made no attempt to hide the hunger in his eyes. I could see that he wanted me. His eyes told me how he wanted to take and devour every inch of my body, leaving me sore and broken. Electric heat ran through my body. My face upturned, I let my eyes flutter closed.
But then, he walked away. He just walked away, leaving me standing there stupidly. I felt so shamed and rejected. He took his seat again, and acted like nothing happened. My shoulders drooped, head dropped, and knees buckled slightly. I was an idiot. He is my boss, and now he was sure as day going to fire me! He interrupted my internal monologue with a sharp order.
"Come to the edge of my desk, Miss Craig." My feet made the short steps quickly, kicking the papers I had spilled just a minute earlier. I felt the wooden edge of his desk against the front of my hips. I stood there. Waiting. Praying he would forgive me, or forget that I had just acted like a complete fool. He adjusted himself in his chair and went back to his typing.
Dismissively, he said, "Well, I presume you want more than to just stand there looking desperately horny. Remove your shirt. It will help with the heat." My jaw dropped, and heat rushed to my cunt. I should have turned a heel and marched out of his office right then, like any sane woman. But my fingers flew to the buttons of my blouse. I undid them with trembling hands and laid my shirt on the desk. Then I stood there, in front of my boss, in a bra, skirt, and heels. My pussy was absolutely aching. And yet, he sat there, still typing, eyes still glued to his screen. Was this a big joke? Or did he think I wasn't worth looking at? I just wanted him to look at me, to like what he saw.
"Reach over here and free my cock before it explodes." He kept typing. Was he serious? I needed to get out of here, fast.
"Now." This time, he looked at me. And his impatience was unmistakable. I started around the desk, to go to his chair. He stood before I took two steps, reached across, grabbed my hair in a fist, and forcefully slammed me down against the desk. He lowered his mouth to my ear. His breath was hot.
"I said reach, Miss Craig. Do not disobey me again, or the entire office will see you for what you are." This was my cue to leave. He was psycho, obviously. His hand was still painfully tangled in my hair, I was bent uncomfortably over the desk, but my body didn't listen to my logic. It was as if electricity coursed through my veins, all headed for my bare cunt. My inner thighs had grown slippery from my arousal, and I was acutely aware of the fact as I bent over with my skirt riding up. I listened to my body, and let the logic slip away.
I reached my right arm up to awkwardly unbutton and unzip his pants, his crotch level with my face, his grip tight in my hair. I pushed his slacks down as much as I could and finally manage to pull his cock out so that it unintentionally hit me in the face. Holy shit, I thought, it was huge. I had only been with four men in my life, and none of them measured up. I only had a second to appreciate his massive member before he forced it into my mouth and against the back of my throat.
I immediately gagged, and heard him give a small groan. He pulled out a bit, then pushed right back in, pulling me by my hair further onto his cock. I felt something give in the back of my throat, and he filled me up. He held me there, gagging. I could feel my eyes water and widen. What if he didn't let up? I brought my hand up to push against him. He pulled out of my throat, and I gasped for air. Then he took his other hand and put my arm behind my back.
"You will not touch me again," he instructed. And I didn't dare. He took my mouth again, this time pumping in and out. Fucking my mouth. Fucking my reluctant throat. I gagged and gasped and choked. I tried not to, but I couldn't help it. He barely let me breathe. And then, I felt him push deep again, and his enormous cock pulsed against my tongue, as he let out a strangled groan. Again, I started to panic, with his huge cock cutting off my air supply, and my gag reflex kicking in. I could feel his hot cum in my throat, and I had no choice but to accept it. Finally, when I was about to disobey him, and push him away, he pulled out of me, but with firm instructions: "Swallow it, Miss Craig."
I swallowed, and gasped, and swallowed again. His cum was sticky, and it lingered in the back of my throat as I choked for a decent breath of air. I put both of my palms against his desk to steady myself now that he released my hair from his grasp. I watched as he pulled his underwear and slacks back over his still hard cock and zipped up. He looked at me for a second. His expression was a mixture of amusement and smug satisfaction.
"You may collect yourself and go now. Miss Craig, do not forget to maintain a professional look in my office at all times." With that, he regained his seat and returned to his work. In silent disbelief I pushed myself back up to standing, on shaky legs. My back was stiff from being bent over. My chest heaved as I struggled for normal breathing. I kept my teary eyes downcast as I put my shirt back on and smoothed down my hair. I got to my knees to gather up all my useless papers. I stood, and hesitated, daring to look at my boss, who had just bent me over his desk and fucked my throat like it was a normal occurrence. I turned slowly on my heel and made for the door, taking careful steps.
"Miss Craig," my ears perked up and I turned eagerly to him. "Do not bother to wear underwear tomorrow. I would hate to destroy any of your clothing. And please be prompt for our 11 o'clock meeting." With that, I was dismissed.