Their Secret

by Cassandra Dee

  And I paused for a moment. In general, I like to cut a cancer out at its source, discard it before it festers and grows into a huge sore. But in this case, Jim had a point. I didn’t have a new controller lined up and it would take time to interview candidates and conduct a thorough search. So if I kept him on for another month, it would help with the transition, help us keep the books up until someone new stepped in. But I’d have to keep an eye on the fucker. Fuck. That fucking sucked. I was here to bring in business for United Electric, it was my job as the boss to drum up new jobs for us, to wine and dine clients so that we landed multi-million dollar contracts. So to spend my nights as a part-time accountant fucking sucked, it was the last thing I wanted to do. But against my better judgment, I agreed.

  “Fine,” I said roughly. “One more month and then you’re out.”

  And the man bobbed his head up and down thanking me.

  “Thank you, thank you Mr. Jones,” he blabbered, eyes welling with tears of relief. “Thank you, this will give me just enough time to find a new job, and I will pay you back, I will,” he promised.

  I just turned away, disgusted, shaking my head.

  But the pathetic dude had the temerity to keep going.

  “Is there one more thing I can ask of you?” he begged, still on his knees.

  My head snapped to his, eyes blazing. What the fuck, this guy had just admitted to stealing my money, taking my shit, caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and now he wanted something more from me? Fuck, some people are unbelievable.

  But before I could throw him out of my office, the guy’s face crumpled again.

  “Please come to my twentieth anniversary party this weekend,” he mumbled, “It’s Linda’s and my anniversary, and I don’t want her to suspect anything. I want my wife to be happy and you know she’s been sick lately, she’s been looking forward to this party for so long. Please come so that she doesn’t think something’s wrong.”

  And to my own disbelief, I agreed. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was going soft between this talk of sick wives and family events. But the damage was done.

  “Fine,” I ground out, “I’ll be there.”

  And with that, Jim shuffled out the door, bowing and scraping, his blonde head bobbing, the wisps of white hair comical as they waved back and forth.

  “Oh thank you, thank you,” he blubbered. “You won’t regret it Mr. Jones.”

  And after the door shut, I just sighed. Really, what the fuck was wrong with me? Seriously, I had money to make, a business to build, and I’d just been roped into going to a loser party, put on a happy face so that this thief could make his wife happy. Had the world gone crazy?

  But I knew the real reason. I’m no Mr. Nice Guy. I’m a sick fuck, an asshole through and through and Jim-boy here had something I wanted. I hadn’t seen Lindy in a while, not for a year almost and she’d been captivating, young, nubile, shy but exciting. It was summer break now, she’d be at the celebration, right? And when my dick jerked, growing hard and twitching uncontrollably, I knew I’d made the right decision. Because Lindy was worth it, I wanted to set my eyes on the beautiful girl even if I was firing her dad.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lindy

  I lay on the lounger, sunglasses over my eyes, drifting a little. Most of the guests had gone and I was shaded by a huge tree at the edge of the pool which partially blocked the view. With my eyes closed, I reached a hand out to grab my soda, my fingers questing for the drink sightlessly as I fumbled.

  Suddenly the cool bottle was pushed into my hand, firm and solid.

  “Hey!” I gasped, sitting up, startled.

  And oh god, but chills ran up my spine, my body going weak because Mr. Jones stood over me, his big form looming, throwing me in shadow. And he was so close, so near that I literally began to pant. His massive form was only inches away and I had a perfect view of that huge chest, the chiseled six-pack, and that package. Oh god, that package. A small trail of hair ran from his belly button downwards to his waistband, pointing down, down, down to a bulge that made my mouth go dry. I could see the strong arch, the curve underneath the fabric and my cunt started tingling, sparkling deep inside. Oh fuck, I was seriously losing it just being around this guy.

  And Mr. Jones chuckled, following my line of sight.

  “See something you like?” he said smoothly, eyebrow raised.

  I flushed, immediately flicking my eyes away, embarrassed, pulling my towel over my breasts, trying to look cool although my insides were dissolving, warm and melty. God, I was such an amateur, caught head on, staring at his bulge like a virginal girl.

  “Um hey Mr. Jones,” I said with a weak smile. “How are you? Thanks for coming to my parents’ anniversary party,” I added lamely.

  The big man’s eyes became impenetrable for a second but then it passed, and I shook my head, sure it was a mirage.

  “No problem,” he said smoothly, not sitting down, still looming over me. “I wanted to come, it’s been a long time since I saw you, Lindy. You look great.”

  I colored. I hadn’t seen Chris since high school graduation and that was a year ago. Did he remember? I looked completely different now, no longer a skinny beanpole, now outfitted with a woman’s body that was acting extremely womanly at the moment, creaming slightly down below, my nipples tense, tight with excitement.

  “Oh thanks,” I said with bright smile on my face. “How have you been?” Better to pass my gaffe off as nothing, pretend nothing had happened.

  And big man chuckled low in his throat, taking a swig of his cocktail.

  “Good, I’ve been good,” he rumbled, before fixing me with an electric look, those blue eyes piercing, seeing through my towel like x-ray vision. Oh god, my nips grew harder under his gaze and I cursed my body. Why now? Why, why, why?

  But Chris just shot me another grin.

  “You’ve changed a lot,” he remarked.

  And this time, I was determined to shield my body’s reaction. I pulled my towel even tighter, wrapping it around me like I was a mummy in a blanket. But instead of hiding things, it had the opposite effect. It was so tight on my breasts that my nips stuck out like missiles, hard and pointy, poking out so that the big man couldn’t help but see, his eyebrows rising with amusement.

  “Miss me?” he growled low in his throat, shifting his stance so that the rest of the party was blocked from our intimate exchange, his big body shielding me from other’s gaze. “Your body certainly does, those luscious tits are sending me a message.”

  And I colored again, my hands still. Oh my god, was this really happening? Was Mr. Jones coming onto me, talking about my body, my creamy tits, his dick only inches from my face? Wasn’t this wrong? He was in his forties, more than twenty years older than me, plus he was my dad’s boss.

  But that was the problem exactly. I didn’t want to offend the big man because he was my dad’s boss, and besides, I kinda liked his eyes on me, the way his gaze slid warmly over my curves, eating me up, looking approvingly at my wide hips, my big ass. So I managed to smile and looked at him brightly.

  “My boobs are sending you a message?” I murmured. “I didn’t realize,” I cooed, pulling the towel up, hoping to cover more of myself, like a drape over my torso. Except this effing towel wasn’t a beach towel, it was your standard bath towel and it rose up so that my crotch was bare, my thick thighs on display, the pale skin joining at the top in a beautiful vee.

  And Mr. Jones just chuckled again, not even bothering to hide his amusement, his eyes fixed on my vag, his dick lengthening, growing so hard, so big that it strained against his waistband before popping a bit over the fabric, the pink fleshy helmet gleaming wetly in the low light.

  “Little girl,” he said, “I think you forgot something.”

  And I looked down and gasped, horrified. Because the swimsuit wasn’t doing its job at all. The leg holes had pulled so high, so tight, so that the nylon was basically a string between my pussy lips, bisecting the plump, swollen flesh.<
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  “Oh god!” I squealed, trying with hasty hands to adjust the towel again. But I just made things worse. I was so clumsy, so awkward that somehow the towel got tangled up over my head and crept up even more, baring more of my exquisite cunt, the lips wet and glistening.

  “Fuuuck,” growled Mr. Jones hoarsely, holding out a hand to stop my thrashing. “Still little girl, still.”

  And like a skittish mare sensing its owner, I calmed under his reassuring touch, the way his big hand was so calm, so dominant.

  “I gotcha,” he murmured again, slowly pulling the towel way entirely, disentangling it from my body, the soft terrycloth dropping away to reveal my lush curves in their full glory. “Fuck Lindy,” he breathed again. “How did you get so beautiful?”

  And I blushed once more, this time a full body blush, the pink spreading from my chest all the way down to my cunt, every part of me slightly rosy from hairline to toes. And I had nowhere to hide from his gaze, there was nowhere to go although truth be told, I didn’t want to hide anymore, his eyes felt so warm on me, so delicious, leaving tingles wherever they landed.

  “Mis-Mister Jones,” I stuttered softly. “What’s going on? I-I need my towel back.”

  He flicked an eyebrow at me.

  “But maybe I want to see more,” he drawled.

  And I shivered inside, my nips jutting out like rocks now, one boob literally popping out from the top of my swimsuit. Fuck, I was barely clothed, lying back on the lounger with one huge tit out for his gaze, the other straining to break free, my pussy shielded only by a string.

  “Mr. Jones,” I whispered, my eyes begging as I met his. “Please.”

  But the big man ignored me, instead shifting his board shorts a bit so that about three inches of dick stuck out over the waistband and oh god, but he was leaking from the tip, the deep purple head swollen so big and glossy that I could see a vein beating along the bottom, painfully throbbing. Immediately my lips parted slightly, my mouth opened as if in anticipation of a deep suck, knowing where that man meat belonged.

  And Mr. Jones just chuckled deep in his throat then, his eyes on fire now, the blue so hot that it practically threw flames where it landed. He shifted his big body once more to make sure we couldn’t be seen. I guess from over by the food table, it probably looked like we were having a normal conversation, Mr. Jones’s broad back blocking any visual of me other than my legs sticking out. But still, this was so wrong and fucked up and dangerous … and I loved it. My parents were only twenty feet away chatting with friends, with no idea what their baby girl was doing with the boss man.

  And gulping, my heart beating a million miles a minute, I tried again, eyes wide.

  “Mr. Jones,” I whispered softly. “I need my towel. I can’t get up from this lounger without that towel, give it back.”

  The big man chuckled, his fingers tightening into a fist around the soft terry.

  “That’s what you get for wearing that fuck-me swimsuit,” he growled, his eyes running up and down my curves. I colored. This was a modest one-piece, I’d just grown out of it and had no opportunity to shop. But before I could interrupt, the big man continued. “Tell you what, little girl,” he rumbled smoothly. “I’ll give this back to you if you do something for me first.”

  My cheeks colored and I whispered, “What is it? I’ll do anything, please Mr. Jones.”

  And the dark slashes across his cheeks heightened, his chest and abs growing tight, the pre-cum leaking in a stream from his dick now.

  “Play with your tits,” he commanded. “Rub and stroke yourself without making a sound so your folks don’t hear. And then take that thing,” he said nodding at the Coke bottle, “and put it in your pussy.”

  I gasped. What the? That was the most depraved idea I’d ever heard of. I mean, I was being blackmailed right under my parents’ nose, Mom and Dad standing not twenty feet away, forced to show my body otherwise the rest of the guests were going to see my nudity. Plus, we were at my house! Chris was a guest here and yet he held all the cards. How in the world had this happened?

  But something changed in me, a switch had flipped on ever since we began our conversation. Maybe it was from reading all the naughty stories, watching all the skin flicks, but suddenly my body pulsed uncontrollably and I was compelled to obey, magnetically drawn to Mr. Jones’s aura. So with a slow, hesitant hand, I began playing with my tits, rubbing them, massaging and squeezing huge handfuls of the white flesh, my nips pink and rosy.

  “Take your other tit out,” Mr. Jones commanded darkly. “Let me see them both.”

  And obediently, I pulled my left boob out of the suit as well so that both of my girls were free, mountainous and creamy, the Double D jugs standing out to there. With clever fingers, I pulled at my nipples, tracing circles around the sweet pink tips, corkscrewing off them with audible pops before bringing one, then the other, to my mouth for a deep lick, then a quick suckle. Because yeah, that’s one of the benefits of my changed body. I’m now able to lick and kiss my own boobs, there’s enough breastflesh so that I can push them all the way up to my mouth, tongue myself while sparks shoot from my nipples to my cunt.

  And from the way the big man was breathing, his eyes glued to my form, his huge body rock hard, filled with unleashed power, I could tell he was massively turned on. So coyly, I raised one to Chris, waving it in small circles, the pink nipple hard and wet from my saliva.

  “Come and taste?” I cooed softly, looking up at him between my lashes.

  And something flared in the big guy’s eyes then. He wanted to, I could tell he would have given anything to get on his knees beside me and dive into my creaminess, but it was his bulk that was shielding us from the partygoers’ gaze. So instead, with deft hands, he pulled his entire cock out of his swim trunks and began fisting it, balls high and tight, the massive length heavy, deep pink, and glossy. I wanted so bad to taste, to feel that fuckpole inside me, but I was just as stuck. I couldn’t move on the lounger without giving us away, without letting other people in on our secret. So instead I did the next best thing. Reaching for my Coke, I picked it up and put to my mouth as if taking a sip. It was a throwback bottle, the kind that’s green glass with a narrow bottle neck flaring into a circular base. And with a coy smile, my pink tongue flickered out, lapping lightly at the neck before circling around the bottle head, lubing it up, getting it warm.

  “This is all for you, Mr. Jones, all for you,” I said breathily, never breaking eye contact as the big man fisted his dick, his hand a blur now. And with a sigh, I parted my legs, pulling the tight nylon to one side and hooking it over my labia so that my pussy was completely uncovered, everything exposed, creamy and wet for him.

  “See Mr. Jones?” I panted, canting my hips up so that he could look into my pussy, spreading my lips a bit so that my inner channel was visible, my clit huge and stiff. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

  And I began sliding the coke bottle up and down my pussy lips, wetting the glass, the clear green growing smoky with my cum.

  “Oh fuuuuuck,” came the groan from above, the man’s eyes fixated on my steaming cunt, the penetration that was about to happen.

  I giggled. I’ve never had a man so turned on for me, so completely under my spell and it lit something within, made me into a girl I didn’t recognize. So going with the flow, exploring this new side of me, I did the unthinkable. With a deft flick of my wrist, I slipped the coke bottle inside, just half an inch, my pussy lips parting and squeezing wetly around the round head.

  “Ohhh!” I moaned quietly, throwing my head back, eyes closed. My nips were pointed up in the air, my boobs creamy and full as I fucked myself with the glass bottle. “Ohhh!” I moaned again.

  Suddenly the conversation in back of us paused for a moment.

  “Was that a dog I heard?” asked a female voice.

  “Maybe it was a dying squirrel,” smirked a male voice in return.

  And Chris and I held our breaths, eyes open and alarmed, our bodies tigh
t as we paused, breathless, waiting. But soon the hubbub of voices started up again and we went back to our wicked ways. Slowly, oh so slowly, I inched the bottle up my puss, the green glass hard, smooth and relentless in my channel. I slid it in partway and then pulled it out, moaning low in my throat as the glass reappeared between my cunt lips, coated in cream. The big man growled deeply, his hand fisting his dick at light speed as my pussy gushed and streamed with white, clit stiff and trembling in the air.

  Suddenly my mom’s voice cut in.

  “Lindy!” she sang out, “Can you help me in the kitchen please?”

  And I groaned. I knew what it was, Brenda probably needed help getting the cake ready, lighting candles or getting the dessert plates.

  “Sure Mom,” I managed to say in a semi-normal voice, the words a little croaky despite my best effort. “In a sec.”

  And with another sweet shove, I pushed the bottle in again, this time frigging my clit at the same time, gasping under my breath, my body pulsing and arching. It was so good, so hot, to know that we were touching ourselves within twenty feet of assorted family and friends that Chris and I came simultaneously, my pussy pumping around the glass bottle as Chris roared under his breath, ejaculating all over my breasts, dripping onto my stomach, running into the sweet vee between my legs.

  “Awwww fuck,” he moaned quietly. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

  And I was no better. The shower of white electrified me, I loved seeing the sperm jump through the air, sail in arcs before spattering on my tits, globs and rivulets running all over me. My cunt pulsed and spasmed on the bottle inside, gripping it tight, my nether lips seizing the green glass like it was the real thing, a dick inside with a job to do.

  “Oh oh oh!” I cried breathily, trying to keep it down. “Oh!”

  But we’d both been too loud.

  “There’s that damn dog again,” said the disembodied female voice, this time a little louder. “Wonder what’s going on?”