by Jamie Knight
He was deep and wise beyond his 29 years, which went a ways to explain how he had managed to qualify for the Fortune 500 when he was not yet 30. It really was enough to make a girl wet. Me in particular. It was a bit embarrassing, but there was more than one occasion when it all just got too much and I had spent the majority of my lunch break in the single-occupancy bathroom, fingering myself to quiet orgasm, imaging his beautiful eyes looking up at me from between my thighs as he ate me out. It got even worse, and better, after I was promoted to his assistant in addition to my duties as an agent.
With everything else that was happening in the vast and expanding universe, did it really matter if I was fifteen minutes late getting into the office when I knew for a fact that Max spent the first twenty minutes of every workday meditating in his office, preparing his beautiful body and brilliant mind for another day of innovation and would never know unless someone ratted me out? Of course it didn’t. Unfortunately, not everyone shared this philosophy.
“Late again?” Lauren asked, clicking her tongue in the most patronizing way possible.
“Depends on your perspective,” I said, placidly as I could manage.
“What is Max’s perspective?”
“Non-existent because he isn’t going to know, and if you try to tell him he won’t believe you. He’s more of the seeing is believing type and has a marked distaste for gossip.”
I didn’t know if the last part was true, but neither did Lauren, so it was certainly worth a try. She was always trying to pull some dirty trick. Not just on me.
She seemed to have it in for anyone who got in the way of what she wanted. She usually got away with it too. She was a dangerous combination of evil cunning and ethereal beauty, combined with the moral compass of Elizabeth Bathory.
“Still though. I think it might be time for him to look for someone more reliable to fill the all-important role of his assistant. Someone who, for example, can actually get to work on time.”
“By taking the subway?”
It was a killing blow. Lauren fell deathly silent as I continued on my way to my corner office right next to Max’s. I had to be close so I could be there whenever he needed me. After his morning meditation of course. It was a cheap shot, but she deserved it. The greatest of Lauren’s failings, and there were many, was her entirely baseless superiority complex. She went about the place like she was the queen bee in her fake Tiffany’s jewelry and knock-off Chenille suits.
The chair creaked slightly as I eased into the soft leather. The tension of the drive in melted away as I was enveloped in comfort. Max really had spared no expense. I wasn’t sure if it was out of respect for me as a co-worker and my efficient work for the firm or if, perhaps, he felt the same way about me that I did about him. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
Granted, he was a god among humans in the looks and intelligence department, but I wasn’t exactly a cabbage either. I was no supermodel, I was well aware, but people didn’t exactly cross the street to get away from me either. And I had gotten more than one double-take when walking down the street. Especially in my Donna Karen number with the skintight, thigh length skirt. It was true that things were different in New York.
The standards for everything were higher, even people. It could make you crazy unless you could keep perspective. Luckily, I knew that while I might have been a New York 5 I would be a solid 7 1/2 most other places in the world.
Taking off my shoes, as was the custom, I booted up my work computer and waited for my sweet master to beckon. A little thrill went through me every time he said my name. Especially when he yelled it from the other room, commanding my undivided attention. It was something I was more than willing to give, along with a whole lot more.
As I waited, I got into the work I still had as an agent that I wanted to get done before the weekend. Time ticked away at a steady rhythm, stuck between fast and slow. The minute seemed like minutes and the hour seemed like hours.
“Carrie!”
My master’s voice! I yelped with joy and delight, getting up and rushing into his office so fast that I neglected to put my shoes back on. Fortunately, he didn’t really notice. His head was still buried in work as I arrived. I quickly sat down in the chair opposite his desk. Hiding my bare feet beneath it. I crossed my legs on instinct. My tight little pussy was already dripping with desire for his manly form.
He was a good bit older than me. Nearly six years. I had just turned 19 the month before, my rise through the firm pretty fast. I worked my ass off out of desire rather than need. I actually loved my job and wanted to do as well at it as I could. Max gave the ultimate show of his approval by promoting me yet again, making me his right-hand girl. A phrase which always led me to fantasizing about jerking him off, his beautiful cock throbbing in my small hand as I stroked him to ecstasy.
He hadn’t spoken yet, still in his work. He wanted me present for when he was done. I had no problem with that at all. It just gave me more time to be with him in all his wonderful glory. Keeping quiet, I started to think. The fantasies came faster than I could keep up. There was no hope of stopping them, even if I had wanted to.
He looked at me. His beautiful eyes seemed to look into my very soul as he got up and came around to my side of the desk. As he moved, he started taking off his belt. I thought maybe I had been a naughty girl and my master was going to spank me. I pictured myself bent over his desk, skirt gathered up around my hips, panties around my ankles, bare ass raised to him in obedient offering.
That was not his plan, however. Instead of bending me over and spanking me raw, Max took down his fly, unleashing his monster cock. The throbbing cock was mere inches from my wet little mouth. Not needing to be told twice, I opened wide, not gagging once as he slipped in, getting more than half his cock inside before stopping. Closing my lips around him in a warm, loving mouth-hug, I started to suck, massaging my lips along his magnificent manhood in long, soft, silken strokes.
As I sucked his beautiful cock, Max started unbuttoning my shirt until all the buttons were undone, unveiling my firm, young tits. My pencil-eraser sized nipples already stood at attention, eager for his touch. He indulged me, cupping his hand over my tit. He massaged the soft, pale flesh like a mound of fresh dough, making me gently hum as I sucked his cock until he delivered his massive load into my eager mouth.
Laying his hand on the back of my neck, Max guided me to my feet before his big desk and gently bent me over. Rather than spanking me as I had first thought, he hiked up my skirt and pulled down my panties, exposing me fully to the cool, fresh air, and eased the head of his cock into my warm, cozy pussy.
Laying one hand on the small of my back and taking my loose blond ponytail with the other, my handsome, dominant master fucked me, pounding his massive cock into my tight little pussy until I screamed with joy.
I squeezed my thighs together even tighter as I sat in his office that momentous Friday morning. The heat already gathering between my legs upgrading to a total fucking inferno.
“I - ”
Max stopped cold. His eyes pulled to my chest, as though by an invisible, magnetic force, I looked down too, noticing that one of the buttons on my shirt had come open again. The middle one. Right between my tits, offering a generous view of the healthy pink flesh beyond. I quickly did it up again, pulling my suit jacket closed over top.
“I was wondering if you would like to go with me for lunch,” he said, as though he had to ask.
“Sure,” I said, trying to suppress my gushing enthusiasm.
“Great. Get your shoes back on and meet me down in the lobby.”
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. He was nothing if not perceptive. He could probably tell what I’d had for breakfast that morning, strawberry Pop Tart, from my breath.
The Ariba café was pretty close to the office, so we didn’t have to get the cars out. Instead, we walked the mean Manhattan streets, my heels clicking on the pavement and my ass swaying as I went, something that always happen
ed when I wore heels.t was just how I was built.
I got a few glances at my boobs even with my jacket closed, but I honestly didn’t take much notice. My mind at that moment focused on walking in a straight line and resisting the urge to take Max by the hand like we were some kind of couple anywhere other than in my mind. He probably didn’t even notice me.
Not that he didn’t care, just not in that way. It could have been that he saw me as a respectable and efficient employee, which was no bad thing. It was just that I wanted to be all that in addition to serving as his personal fuck toy. Was that too much to ask?
Both of us ordered our usual and sat on the patio to enjoy the nice day. Not too hot, not too cold, the light clouds provided a buffer from the radiant sun while still in no way threatening rain. I gave a moment’s thought to taking off my jacket but figured after what happened in his office, it was probably better to keep it on.
Otherwise, he might think I was coming on to him. Which I would have been, as well as relieving a bit of the heat, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to know that. I hoped that he might see me how I wanted him to. I imagined that he did but didn’t know that for sure and didn’t want to risk embarrassing myself.
“I’ve had an idea for a project, and I wanted to get your opinion.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my cool.
I was excited and honored that he would think to ask me, though I still had to wonder why. There were so many other agents at the firm who were older and more experienced than I was.
“Who, besides yourself of course, would you say is the best agent?”
“Thomas,” I said quickly, though it also happened to be true.
“Really?”
“Yes, he’s a real workhorse. Been in the business longer than anyone and really knows the ins and outs. I mean, you don’t need me to tell you, but he got us some of our biggest clients, including White & White.”
“That’s not quite what I meant. See I was thinking - ”
“O Fortuna” rang out over the table and Max had to get his phone, not really looking happy about it.
“Morgan,” he said sharply, “Yeah, oh, hey man. You what? Fuck!”
Tossing a twenty onto the table, Max got up and walked away from the table, taking a small bit of my self-esteem along with him. Left alone at the bistro table, next to the dangerously bustling sidewalk, I sipped my hot chocolate with whipped cream, not really wanting my bagel anymore and quietly cried.
Chapter Two - Max
I felt bad about leaving Carrie like that. I left enough money to pay for both of us plus a generous tip, but I didn’t look back. Not because I didn’t care but because I couldn't. I had to focus on the call, and I knew if I saw her, I would hang up immediately and go back to her. Good in the short term, terrible in the long term.
Mitch Peters didn’t call unless something big was happening, so I picked up every time my phone rang with his number. He had yet to steer me wrong and was a large part of the reason that the firm was worth as much as it was. I couldn’t leave him hanging. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
“What’s the good news?” I asked, having dispensed with the pleasantries and preliminary bad news.
“The good news is I have Whitman on the hook.”
“Ulysses Whitman?”
“The same. He’s wiggling a bit, but I think I can reel him in.”
“Geez, someone likes their morbid fishing metaphors.”
“Yes, I do. Though the fact remains, he would be one of our biggest clients to date if only we could bag him.”
“We’re bagging now?”
“It’s just a turn of phrase,” Mitch explained calmly.
“Turn it back.”
“Smart-ass.” “That's why you love me,” I beamed.
“That and the money,” Mitch amended, “the meeting is later today.”
“So, what do you need me for, O golden one?”
“Now, now, there is no call to be a meanie pants. I am just feeling a bit fatigued at the moment and could use some back up.”
“I’m your Huckleberry,” I said, putting on my best Georgian accent.
“Glad to hear it. The meeting is at two in room 213 of The Atrium.”
“The Atrium?”
“Is there an echo in the line?”
“Prick,” I smiled.
“And that’s why you love me.”
“As well as the clients,” I amended.
“A match made of conscience and mutual benefit.”
“Which is why it works,” I agreed.
“What are you up to?”
“The usual brilliance and innovation,” I said, the very picture of modesty, “I’ve actually had a fairly brilliant idea about how to boost our client list even higher.”
“Only fairly brilliant? Dear me, you must be slipping.”
“It’s called modesty.”
“Can’t say I’m familiar,” Mitch confessed.
“I’m even asking for outside input,” I beamed, greatly proud of my humility.
“I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
“Why, what’s happening?” I inquired curiously.
“I’m just gonna pop over to the window and check if the apocalypse has started.”
“Only in my heart, dear boy.”
“I’m a year older than you.”
“Only chronologically.”
“Tell me, oh wise one, who is the enchanting maiden who hath beguiled thine heart?”
Generally, I would have been cautious about revealing my heart, but Mitch and I had known each other since kindergarten. He was like the brother I’d never had.
“Carrie,” I said, after a pause for effect.
“Your assistant?” Mitch clarified.
“The same.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You're not?”
“Of course not, I’ve seen the girl. I might have thought she was a bit young for you but follow your heart. Just not under the age barrier.”
“Good rule for life,” I agreed.
There was no problem there. I knew for a fact that Carrie was 19. Nearly 20 really. Well past the legal threshold. Besides, I was hardly a candidate for a dirty old man, not even out of my 20s yet.
Give it a couple of months and we would be in the same decade of life. Carrie at the beginning and me at the end, but it still counted. Not that it mattered anyway. Beyond what was illegal, it all came down to personal opinion and everyone could keep theirs to themselves as far as I was concerned.
I was a great supporter of Mill and his ideas about personal freedom in which that anyone of the age of reason should be allowed to do as they like as long as they don’t hurt anyone who does not freely choose that path. A dominant could whip a willing submissive with no issue.
Outside those kinds of arrangements, it got into the territory of forfeit of rights. Namely that one could not infringe on the rights of another without giving up their own. A notion which had a heavy influence on Anton LeVay and his Seven Tenets. Particularly number three, “The body is inviolable and subject to one’s will alone.” A nice tweak of Mill, that.
Things were looking up. Murphy’s Law was the other governing doctrine of my life, leaving me looking for disaster wherever it might lurk, like a ravenous beast in the darkness. Whitman was a big catch, right up there with some of the big players. If we got him on board not only would we get his money, which should be considerable, but the clout that came with having him as a client, would lead to promotional opportunities galore.
Glad I took the call, I remembered what I had given up to take it. I hadn’t seen it. There was no way I could have heard it, but still I knew. I had made Carrie cry. I couldn’t really blame her either. I had just gotten up and walked away like she was nothing. She wasn’t nothing. She was everything and more.
She haunted my days as well as my nights. An ever-present dream. It wasn’t that I thought about her every minute of every day, but even whe
n I couldn’t see her, I knew she was there. Sitting in some corner of my mind just out of sight, waiting patiently for me to look her way.
I couldn’t help it. I knew what the results would be, terrible as they were, yet I went ahead anyway. Unable to stop the train of thought once it was out of the station, nothing short of a full-scale derailment would really be able to help me at that point. It was off and chugging, picturing all the things I would like to do to sweet little Carrie in crystal clear, high definition.
She was in the master bedroom of my townhouse, dressed only in a pure white, silk kimono. I knew she was naked under it because the front plunged down, the heavenly cloth covering her luscious tits and coming together at her belly in a way that made it clear that she was not wearing a bra. The garment was cinched so tight around the lovely hips that I surely would have seen panty lines, were there any present to detect.
I simply stood for a moment, leaned against the door frame, drinking it all in. Memorizing every inch of her. Committing every detail of the scene to my internal vault for later reference.
Pushing off from the door frame and using the momentum as a head start, I approached the bed. Carrie flinched ever so slightly, no doubt hearing my footfalls on the hardwood floor. Still, she kept looking down. She sat with her back straight, her palms pressed flat against the bedspread just like I had told her.
I stopped just short of her, my legs inches from hers. I reached out with a steady hand, tucking it under her neck, making her look at me. Her eyes were still closed for the first few seconds until she realized that I wanted her to look. Then it was all she was able to do.
Moving slowly as not to startle her, and respecting the vulnerability of her position, I kissed her softly. Just her lips at first, sweet and supple, letting her know the nature of my intentions, before slipping her my tongue as well.
She accepted the gift happily, even greedily, sucking on it with enthusiasm that seemed to surprise even her. I placed my hands on her hips and let her at it. The hums she was making let me know it was something she really enjoyed. Soon, she let me do the same to her.