by Gia Blue
“I can't read minds, you know?” I shrugged, willing away the surge of lust that his touch brought out in me. My eyes lingered on his belt buckle, looking down, down to find the upright bulge I wanted to ride. A pool of warmth filled my panties, which I wanted him to remove.
With his teeth.
“You can't?” His voice was like warm velvet. “I thought you could. That's why we hired you. For your – ” his eyes traveled down my body, then back up, his face flushing and eyes darkening with desire. “-- mind.” His hand began caressing the inside of my elbow, brushing lightly against my breast. I inhaled and nearly moaned.
“Lindsay, I think you can read minds.” He pulled away and sat up on my desk, legs spread toward me. “What am I thinking right now?” Maddeningly, his face showed virtually no expression. His eyes and body, though, burned for me.
My clit wanted so much more than it had gotten from Darren last night. To think I'd been satisfied – no, convinced myself I'd been satisfied – by Darren's pathetic tongue, when this man was standing in front of me, wearing a neon invitation that screamed “Fuck Me Right Now”? Hah.
“I think you want me to fuck you.”
He grinned. “I think you have that backwards.”
A thought hit me. If we were going to do this, let's do it all the way. Reaching into my laptop case, I fumbled to find my target. Got it.
Clutching my new strap-on, I slowly pulled it out and into view. “No. I don't have it backwards at all. I think – ” I said, stepping between his legs and running the tip up his thigh, “--I want to fuck you.”
Now, this was the point where I either got fired or I got laid. Well, Mark got laid.
Someone was going to get fucked either way.
* * *
This was not how I expected my quick meeting with Lindsay would go. When I marched into her office, having managed to save the McClintock campaign and signing the new contract, I thought I'd chew her out and, maybe, convince her to go out for drinks after work. Angry? Yes. Frustrated? Sure. Victorious? Yep.
Being asked to be ass fucked by a strap on? That was not what I'd expected. At all.
This was new territory. Virgin territory, you might say. I'd had a pinkie finger here and there shoved in me by an enterprising girlfriend, but no one had every suggested pegging. So now my direct report wanted to turn me into a bottom?
Who was the boss here?
I arched my eyebrows and stared into her green eyes. She blinked twice, coquettish and pretending to be guileless, but the promise of freaky fetish sex was too incongruous. Who was this woman?
And where had she been all this time.
She stroked the strap-on's head against my shaft, slowly following my dick from base to top, applying slightly more pressure as she hit my mushroom cap. I grabbed her and pulled her face to me, kissing her and parting those lush lips with my tongue. An eager mouth met mine as we immediately became Human Resources' worst nightmare.
Thankfully she was such an underling in the company that she'd been given a crappy office with no windows. As if reading my mind – hey, maybe she really could! – she pulled away, went to the door, and locked it.
Then she turned around and began a slow strip tease. Panties first, which she brought to her face and sniffed, then threw at my head. They bounced to the ground but I didn't retrieve them, instead mesmerized by the show. She scooched out of her skirt, revealing a heart-shaped ass and hips meant to be clutched from behind, perfect handlebars for rear entry.
Next, her shirt, which she threw off with more haste. Then her bra. Now she was naked and she came back to me, breasts as soft and supple as I'd imagined them while jerking off at home, Or in my office next door. She hadn't known, so it had never hurt to think about fucking her. I stopped for a moment – or had she?
And then she reached forward and with one swift move unbuttoned and unzipped me.
Ah – she read my mind. I slid off the desk and slipped out my clothes. Now we were both naked.
“The staff meeting!” she suddenly squealed. The clock read 8:56 a.m.
“I'm the boss,” I murmured as I drew the length of her to me, pressing every possible square inch of our bodies together. “If I don't show up, they won't care.” She relaxed into me and her hands roamed my back while I lowered myself, licking a trail between her breasts, tongue finally reaching that blazing crotch, ready to tongue her into a frenzy. With gentle hands I parted her legs and flicked once or twice – just enough to make her shudder.
Then I stood and lifted her on the desk. “I need a more ergonomic office environment, Ms. Jennings,” I said as I went down on her, the scent a musk mixed with lavender, her curls hiding a bright red nub and a slick hole that was ready to be filled. She filled her hands with my hair, pushing me rhythmically into her clit, tongue tracing careful circles and linear lines designed to provoke her, but not take her to orgasm yet. I slid a hand up to find her nipple and pinched, then entered her with two fingers, one hooked up to find her G spot.
Her breath hitched with a pattern I knew. Soon she was writhing and screaming through gritted teeth, shoving my face into her clit, grinding into me as I struggled to follow her, tongue using a steady pressure to keep her going as wave after wave made her juicy and soaked.
She eased down from her orgasmic wave and then sat up, hazy and unfocused, yet oddly determined.
“Your turn,” she said, and I stood there waiting for her mouth.
Instead, she reached into her laptop bag and brought out a bottle of lube. Then she reached for the strap on, slid it up into her wet pussy, and closed her eyes. A long sigh and a sudden tightening of her abs showed me a slow, simple orgasm I didn't know women could achieve. And then she withdrew the strap-on's dildo and clinched it around her hips.
“You weren't kidding?” I asked.
She feigned innocence. “What ever made you think I was?” Then a laugh that sent shivers through my dick and into my ass filled the room.
She shot me a questioning look. “You in?”
I hesitated, then smiled. “No, but apparently you will be in a few seconds.”
And that's all it took. She guided me onto the desk, in the same position she'd been in a minutes ago. This was new – missionary with the man on...bottom.
She took the lube and stroked the dildo carefully, loading it up, blending it with her juices. Then, using the same hand, she slid one finger in my asshole, pouring more lube over my hole with the other hand. I was soaked, and so was her desk blotter.
She grabbed a small footstool and stood on it, trying to find the right height and angle. And then – pressure and pleasure. Withdrawal. In – out. She'd go in a half inch, then my muscles pushed the dildo out. In – out. Her hips bucked, slowly, like mind did during sex with a woman, except hers were less practiced, more awkward My hot, red, tight cock was screaming for attention but I didn't care, fascinating and aroused by the attention my ass was getting.
And then – pain. Exploding, blinding pain that filled me and completed me. Pleasure and climax all at once, the a friction that withdrew the sensation to nothing. Then the filling and friction. And now – oh, oh oh! A perfect pressure point inside that made me writhe, grabbing anything I could reach, squeezing the life out of it as the agony and the ecstasy blended.
And then it was gone.
Back again.
Gone. She pumped in and out, with more practiced strokes, her hands preoccupied with balance. I reached for my cock and nearly came with one light touch.
Then she did it for me, solely with the strap-on, as something shifted and now a pleasure vortex in me turned my entire world into one pinpoint of orgasm, shattering everything in the room. I grunted and groaned; she put a hand over my mouth. I bit her palm and she used her other hand to touch herself, head thrown back, my mouth biting her and her other hand bringing her wave after wave of climax as we rode the ocean together, surfing through this tsunami of lust.
And then the phone rang.
I fumbl
ed to answer it, heart pounding, cock twitching, head reeling. “Mark Warham.”
“Mark, I think you forgot about the staff meeting,” my secretary said.
“Oh.” I stared at Lindsay, who was grinning triumphantly at me. “Yeah. Be there in a minute.” I hung up. We both started getting dressed. My orgasm left me with a jizz-covered belly; Lindsay kindly handed me a box of tissues and I laughed. She kept sneaking glances at me and smiling.
Fully dressed, we looked at each other. “Do I look OK?” we asked in unison.
Laughing, we both answered, “You're fine.”
“So, how was that?” she asked.
“I feel drained but full, all at once,” I answered, suddenly a bit self-conscious. “Is that normal?”
She flinched and looked unsure of herself. “How would I know? I've never done that before.” She slid the strap-on into her laptop bag, along with the bottle of lube.
“So why did you...?” I let the words hang in the silence.
After a full minute passed, she looked at me and said, “It's like playing a game of 'chicken.' Whoever backs down first, wins. I figured I'd throw it out there and see if you, uh, backed down.” An evil grin filled her face again, making her glow.
“Then we're 1-1 for today,” I replied, pulling her to me for a kiss.
“That depends,” she said between kisses, “on how you interpret the game.”
About the Author
Meghan Boehners has been writing erotic fiction for nearly two decades. She started young ;). With stories published in Hustler, Penthouse Forum, and for private clients who was some more, ah...personalized erotica, Meghan's vast experience gives her plenty of material to draw from...with more coming.
Pegging the Boss is just the first in a series...read more at http://15minutefantasies.blogspot.com and on the Meghan Boehners page.
Rest Stop Surprise – Jean-Luc Cheri
I scanned the college bulletin board, trying to find the specific item I was searching for. It was filled with pinned-up job offers, students selling books, folks offering services, announcements for meetings, and people looking to share rides home after classes were over for the summer.
The last item was what I was looking for. I had my truck, but wanted someone to share the eight-hour drive. Most did it to split the cost of gas, but I wasn’t really concerned about that. I was just looking for good conversation for the trip.
There were a lot of offers, but none going to Portland, Oregon. I would have even been willing to drive out of my way just to have someone to go with. I kicked myself for not checking the board earlier in the week. Even the ones that were still up had most of their phone number tabs torn off. Damn.
I was just turning away when I noticed one flyer that was almost completely covered by the ones around it. Just a little triangle of yellow peeking through. My first thought was to ignore it, and just resign myself to driving alone. It probably wasn’t even a request for a ride, let alone one to Portland. But something made me stop and check.
I peeled the other pages away, and pulled it off the board. When my eyes focused, they widened in surprise. In big bold letters, it said, NEED RIDE TO PORTLAND OR, JUN 5-10. Looking at the bottom edge, none of the phone numbers had been torn off. Yes! It must have been covered almost as soon as it went up.
Under the headline, in smaller letters, it read, WILLING TO SPLIT GAS. CALL CHLOE.
I whipped out my cell phone and called the number.
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Um, hello. Is this Chloe?”
“One moment.”
After a long pause, another female voice came on the line. This one seemed younger.
“Hello, this is Chloe.”
“Oh, hello. Um, I just saw your note on the Student Union posting board, about a ride to Portland?”
“Yes?” She sounded hopeful.
“I’m planning on driving up there this Saturday. Would you like to join me?”
“I would love to. Thank you so much. I was worried I was going to have to take the bus.”
I grinned. “My truck is much more comfortable.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jamie.”
“Jamie, thank you so much. And like the note said, I’m willing to split the gas.”
I waved my hand, as if she could see it. “Don’t worry about that. I got it covered.”
“I insist.”
“Well, let’s save that argument until we get underway, ok.”
She laughed softly. “Ok.”
“Where are you located?”
“I’m staying with my aunt.”
“You’re not a student?”
“Not here. I just need to get to Portland.”
“Give me the address then.”
She did, and I wrote it on the back of the flyer.
“Ok. How does Saturday morning at ten sound?”
“Perfect. I’ll be ready.”
I pulled up in front of the house at 9:59. It was a nice neighborhood, which I was glad to see. I was getting out, when the front door of the house opened.
My eyes went wide. She was still over fifty feet away, but she was definitely stunning. I wasn’t sure what I expected her to look like, but it wasn’t this. She was tall, about four inches shorter than my six-foot-two, with a body that was incredible. She wore a pleated skirt that was a few inches short of her knees, and a tight t-shirt that showed off her midriff. Her hair was long and light blonde, and as she approached I saw a set a pretty green eyes. She was smiling widely, and I got the feeling she was as impressed with me as I was with her.
“Jamie?”
I grinned. “You expecting another guy to show up at your front door with a truck?”
She laughed, and it was light and happy.
“Hi Jamie.” She held out her hand.
“Hello Chloe.” I took her small hand in mine.
“You’re very prompt. My mother told me that’s a quality to look for in a guy.”
“I need you to talk to my History professor. He’s always riding me for turning in late assignments.”
She laughed again.
An older woman came out of the house, carrying a pair of suitcases. The similarity was obvious.
“Speaking of your mom, is that her?”
“No. That’s my Aunt Marilyn. My Mom’s sister.”
“Cool.” I walked to the older woman and took the bags from her.
“Thank you Jamie. I’m Marilyn”
“Hello, Marilyn.”
I stashed the suitcases behind the seats.
Marilyn pulled a notepad and a pen from her back pocket. “Jamie?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry if this seems rude, but can I ask you for a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can I see your driver’s license?”
Chloe interrupted. “That’s not necessary, Aunt Marilyn.”
I smiled. “It’s ok. You can’t be too careful these days. I understand completely, Marilyn.”
I took my wallet out of my back pocket and removed my license, then handed it to her.
“Thank you Jamie, for being so understanding.” She took my license and held it to the pad as she copied the information. After she finished, she handed it back to me.
Chloe and her aunt hugged for a long moment, then pulled apart.
“Have a nice trip dear. And tell your mother I said congratulations.”
Chloe looked at her curiously. “For what?”
Marilyn gave her a mischievous grin. “You’ll see.” Then she turned her attention to me. “Jamie, you be careful driving my niece now, you hear?”
I grinned. “I certainly will.”
I helped Chloe up into the truck, then took my place, waving to Marilyn as we drove away.
After we were on the road, I asked, “What was that about?”
“What?”
“Your aunt’s congratulations for your mom?”
“I have no
idea.”
“Not even a clue?”
She shrugged. “Mom said she had a surprise for me when I got home, but I thought it might have been that she was getting a new car and letting me have her old one.”
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like it needs to be congratulated.”
“I agree. Now I’m wondering what it is.”
“Maybe your Mom’s pregnant.” I grinned.
She made the yuck face. “Ewwww! Don’t even joke about that.”
I laughed.
“Besides,” she continued, “she would need a man to pull off that feat.”
“Oh,” I said, a bit chagrined. “I’m sorry. Your dad...?”
“He died when I was eight. Since then, it’s just been my mom and me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
“I can relate though.”
“What do you mean?”
“My Mom died when I was twelve.”
“Aww, that’s so sad.”
“Yeah, the first few years were rough. I really missed her.”
“Did your dad remarry?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think he ever will.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. He just doesn’t seem to be interested.”
“I find that hard to believe. A guy not interested?” She was grinning.
“Well, if he is, he hides it well. He hasn’t even been on a date in four years.”
“So, he did try?”
“Yeah, but then it just dwindled off. How about your mom? Any interest?”
“She goes out on dates occasionally, but nothing serious. Although, lately when I’ve tried to call her on Friday nights, she’s never home.”
“Uh oh, Mom’s getting some.”
She pulled out her yuck face again. “Ewwww, gross!”
I laughed hard.
“On more mention of my mom screwing, Mister, and I’m jumping out. You won’t even have to slow down.”
I was cracking up now.
“Besides,” she continued, “maybe your dad is ‘getting some.’”
My laughing stopped. “Please, don’t even joke about that.”