by Alegra Verde
Taking Her Boss
Glory Tales
Alegra Verde
When Glory James’s boss catches her having sex with a client at the office, she expects to get reprimanded, not Bruce Davies’s revelation that he wants her, too.
Even more shocking is his confession that he likes to be told what to do in bed—and that Glory is aroused by the idea…
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My boss, Bruce Davies, CEO of Davies and Birch Advertising, stood there in the doorway with his mouth open in surprise. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Alex had me bent over my desk, my short black pencil skirt shoved up to my waist, my breasts spilling out of its matching jacket, nipples trailing against the desk blotter, and his big cock shoved so far up my cunt that I felt like singing opera. Alex was breathing hard behind me, a death grip on my hips. “Don’t move,” he barked as he increased his speed. My ass twitched against his groin as he filled me again. His shirttails tickled my lower back. “Oh, Glory.” His voice was a harsh whisper as his cock grew and hardened inside me. I squirmed to get closer, feel more of him. “I can’t stop, babe. I can’t.” I flexed my muscles, stroking his cock to let him know it was okay to keep going, that I wanted him to continue, that I was feeling him. His hands, slippery now, slid along my ass as he tried to maintain his grip. And then he was coming, his body jerking against my ass as he spewed his seed. I was glad I’d remembered to make him wear the condom. It felt like he had uncapped a fire hydrant and couldn’t get the cover back on. Finally, he trembled a bit and went still, his hands coming to rest on my waist and lower back.
“When you’re done here, Ms. James, I’d like to see you in my office,” Mr. Davies said before he backed out of the doorway and pulled the door closed.
“Sorry about that,” Alex said as he pulled out, tugged my skirt over my exposed ass, and set about repairing his clothing.
“Hey, what can you say?” I said, not just to soothe him, but because there wasn’t anything to say. I’m Glory James, Junior Account Rep, but mostly I am, or was, assistant to Mr. Davies. I don’t file or type his correspondence or anything like that. He has another assistant for those things. I handle the things he doesn’t have time for like preliminary research, clients’ backgrounds and sales or production figures that he needs right away, or tweak contracts before Legal finalizes them. Sometimes I pick a client up from the airport and make sure he or she is settled in, and occasionally I take them to dinner or for drinks when Mr. Davies has an emergency. That was the case with Alex here. Alex and his ex-wife design and manufacture shoes mostly, but they do fashion and have recently developed a line of furniture. They’ve been scouting ad agencies. That’s where I come in. There’s a pun in there somewhere, but fucking Alex was not intentional. I mean, it isn’t in my job description. I just liked him. He’s a big man who takes care of his body and he’s smart, reads books, not just trade magazines and newspapers.
“Will you be okay?” he asked after we’d both straightened our clothes and exhausted the container of wet wipes I kept in my desk drawer. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No, I’m good,” I said, smiling at him ’cause what the fuck. I’ve been working for Davies for two years with no complaint. I’ve always done everything he asked and he has continued to give me more responsibility. That must mean he likes the way I do things. If he can’t forgive this one indiscretion then he’s in the wrong business. Besides, it’s after hours, and the client is none the worse for wear.
Alex pulled me close, offering me comfort. He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t think he will, but if he fires you, you can come work for me and I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
I leaned my face into the crisp baby-blue of his shirt taking in his masculine scent and the heat that radiated from his chest.
“And don’t let him bully you into doing anything you don’t want to do.” He pulled me back a bit from his chest so that he could see my face, and I could see the meaning in his eyes. I nodded.
“I’ll wait here,” he said, turning me toward the door.
“No,” I said. “You go on back to the hotel. I’ll call you later.”
He stood there, unmoving.
“Really,” I assured him, “I can handle this.”
“Glory,” he began.
“I got this, Alex, really,” I said, and picked up the file we’d come up here for. “And take this with you. Read it over and tell me what you think. I’ll call you. Tomorrow midmorning at the latest.” I was shoving him and the folder out the door.
“I can wait, and you could come back to the hotel with me,” he coaxed.
I laughed. “Thanks, but really, I need to deal with this and I need a minute. I want you to go, okay?” You have to be firm and clear with some guys. Alex is nice, but I wasn’t looking for a relationship. You have to give him credit, though. He isn’t like some of these jerks who get theirs then skitter off like the rats they are at the first sign of difficulty.
I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. I could feel his soften and meld with mine. “It was good,” I said against his lips, and it was, too, even though I didn’t come off. That probably had more to do with being interrupted by Davies. “You are good,” I said, and slid the tip of my tongue between his lips. He cupped my ass and squeezed.
“Now go,” I said firmly, and pushed him out the door.
I watched for a minute to make sure he headed to the elevators and didn’t detour to Davies’s office. When I heard the ding of the elevator, I closed the door to my office and leaned against its hard surface to catch my breath and steel my nerves. Then I headed to the side door of my office, the one that led directly into Davies’s.
I knocked once. “Come in.” He voice was muffled by the closed door, but it was clear. Uncertain how these matters were usually handled, I stood in the doorway contemplating my next move. “Sit,” he said, and waved toward one of the three leather armchairs positioned in a half circle in front of his desk. I took the center one, seating myself directly in front of him as he sat behind his massive desk leaning forward, his elbows just at the edge supporting his weight. He studied me for a minute letting the silence speak as he clasped his hands together. One finger strayed from the steeple to toy with his lips.
“Alex Rodriquez?” he said, or was it a question.
“Sir?” Mine was a question.
“Why?”
“I like him.” The bare truth. He nodded.
“Why here?”
“It just happened. We came back here for the prospectus. He didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
“Is he the only one?”
“Sir?” What was he asking?
“Of our clients?”
“Yes.”
“I must say—” he leaned back in his chair “—I was surprised by your…actions.”
I waited.
“Of course, I’ve always known that you were a very sexual person. Anyone can see that, but you’ve always been so…so…well behaved.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed at that. Well behaved, where did that come from?
“No.” He reddened a bit. “I mean, you’ve always been businesslike in your dealings with me.”
What does one say to that? I nodded, and I’m sure my eyebrows rose and furrowed like they do sometimes when someone says something obvious or irritating.
“I mean, I’ve always found you appealing.” His fingers were rubbing his chin thoughtfully like he does when we brainstorm about clients and contracts and plot the best strategies to lure and secure them.
Oh, no, I thought, and I really liked this job. I liked Davies. He was a good boss, good at what he did and he trusted me to do my job, no second-guessing. He seemed t
o know my strengths and made sure that I had input on the accounts that could benefit by them. Further, he kept his hands to himself. We’d been out drinking with clients many a late night and he’d never even allowed a hand to accidentally brush my breast, and if a client got too friendly, he never failed to divert the client’s attention, and on one memorable occasion let the client know in bold words that my favors were not on the menu. I respected Bruce Davies. The little girl in me wanted to cover her ears and click her heels.
“And you’re quite capable,” he went on.
Of what, I wanted to ask.
“I like a capable woman,” he said.
My eyebrows did their thing. Two years, I was thinking, two years of prepping, planning and hard work. I thought that I could make a home here, that I could grow. I sat up and scooted to the edge of the chair preparing to leave. I’m good at my job; I do not have to fuck the boss or anyone else to keep a job.
He tensed. “Wait,” he said, holding a hand out as if he could hold me in place with the gesture.
“Glory, I’m not making any demands on you. We can continue on as we have been. It’s just that when I saw you with Rodriquez…”
“You figured I was fair game,” I finished for him.
“No,” he said, and looked directly at me, as if he wanted me to see the truth, “I realized how much I wanted you.”
The baldness of his statement stopped me for a moment.
“Do you have someone special?” he asked.
I shook my head. It was difficult to look at him because his eyes were searing into me.
“Me neither,” he said. “Since the divorce, there has been no one I can trust. And without trust, I’d rather go without.”
I looked at him now, trying to understand.
“I like to be told what to do,” he said simply.
I nodded as though I understood, but I didn’t really, not entirely. I was seeing another side of this man, a side that he rarely shared with others. He sat there in his dark immaculately tailored suit, the tie a little loose, but still in place. His hair was thinning slightly, but his close cut made no excuses and gave the impression that he was solid, reliable. The cut was flattering because its sparseness gave full reign to his sharp cheekbones and gray eyes. At forty something to my twenty-seven, he could have been…well at least an uncle, but there was still a draw there. I could feel the pull. He was telling me that he needed me, but he didn’t move. He sat and waited silently for me to issue a verdict.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.
He nodded, his finger rubbing his lower lip as he studied me.
I stood up.
“Glory,” he said my name softly, “only if you want to. No strings.”
“See you tomorrow,” I said as I made my way back through the door to my office.
After a few days, everything went back to normal, more or less. Alex signed with us. He called a couple of times and I went out with him, usually to dinner with dessert in his hotel room, but I was glad when he went home. Nice guy, but I knew he had a girlfriend back home in Madison, Wisconsin, and I wasn’t interested in taking her place. Mr. Davies was the same. He didn’t look at me strangely and he didn’t slack up on the work. He had a smile for me when I greeted him in the morning, and treated me with the usual courtesy when we lunched with a client or if we were having a bite alone in his office while discussing a campaign. That’s why I was so surprised when one evening about three weeks later, I turned to see him standing in the doorway that connected our offices. For one, he never used that entrance, and for another, he looked uncertain, almost pained.
“Did you think about it, Glory?” he asked.
I wanted to say, “What?” A part of me wanted to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, because things had been going along so nicely.
“Yes,” I said because he wanted me to, and I had been thinking about it. I had been thinking more about what he might want. I got that he wanted me to make demands, to tell him what to do, but I was afraid of how far it could go. However, if I were being truthful with myself, I’d have to admit the prospect was both frightening and alluring.
“What would you do?” I asked.
“Anything,” he said. His voice was a whisper, confiding.
“What are your limits?” I needed more information.
He thought a moment. “I won’t hurt anyone. I wouldn’t hurt you.” He stopped, and then added, “You may…hurt me, punish me if I misbehave.”
I nodded.
“It must be between us,” he reminded me.
“I know,” I said. “You can trust me, Bruce.”
He smiled, a brilliant one, one that I had never seen before.
I went to the door of my office and turned the lock. He waited, hands at his sides, loose.
“What I’d like,” I said as I stood behind my desk and eased my bottom onto the smooth surface of the blotter, “is you, on your knees before me.”
He moved woodenly at first. “Close the door,” I said as he neared. “Lock it,” I ordered. He did as he was told and then he was kneeling before me, still in his jacket and tie. A hot hand grazed my thigh, a nose pressed close to my sex, rubbed against the moisture on my panties.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
He stopped and sat back on his knees.
“Remove my panties.”
His hands slid under my skirt, up my thighs, and pulled at the elastic band drawing the bit of silk along my legs and off. Then he sat back on his legs, head bowed, my panties scrunched up in his hands.
“I want your mouth on me, your tongue sliding over my clitoris, slipping between the lips of my sex,” I said as I sat back on the desk.
He, with the utmost care and gentleness, pushed my skirt further up around my hips, rested my legs on his shoulders, and pressed his mouth to my center. I was glad that I had gotten a wax this morning, and that Bruce was faced with a thin, pleasing line rather than the sometimes-unruly bush.
Pressing his nose through the slit, he held it there breathing in as though it truly was a rose, all soft petals and sweet scent. And then he lapped along the slit, nipped, bit and nuzzled until I was pulling his hair and pushing at his forehead. But he kept at it until I was trembling, batting myself against his mouth, and biting my lip to keep from keening.
He pressed his face into my inner thigh, and then held his cheek there until the trembling subsided. “May I…”
“No,” I said.
“I just want to feel you.”
“No.” I don’t know where it came from, but I suddenly needed to get away. I lifted my leg over his head and slid off the desk. “I have to go.” I fixed my skirt, picked up my purse, and without another word, I walked around him. He fell back onto his bottom sending my chair skating back against the wall. He was looking down at his hands and the bit of pink silk that they held as I walked through the door.
The next morning, it was as though nothing had happened between us. There was a general staff meeting with breakfast in the boardroom. Trays of hot buttered croissants, iced Danish, spiced as well as regular coffee, cranberry and orange juice, and slices of mango, pineapple, melon, and fat strawberries.
“Somebody’s upgraded the fare,” one of the account execs said to a colleague as he loaded his plate. “Where’d they bury the doughnuts and bagels?” The statement elicited a burst of chuckles from the growing crowd.
“You lot deserve the upgrade,” Bruce said as he came into the room. “Two new clients, and the Blake cereal campaign is performing well in the test markets.”
He cast me a generic smile, the same one he’d given everyone else in the room. I had expected him to be angry or sullen, but he wasn’t. He was jovial, spirited even as he took his seat at the head of the table. I sat in a corner to his right nibbling at a piece of melon and sipping coffee. I figured it was a good place because I was nearby if he needed me, but out of his immediate vision. The table filled quickly followed by the seats that lined
the walls. By the time the graphics guys made it up from the basement, there was standing room only and the fruit was running thin. They stocked up on coffee, rolls, iced Danish, and found spaces to lean on the wall.
Davies was in rare form. He listened intently to reports, offered suggestions and praise where warranted, solved disputes with the Wisdom of Solomon and delivered quips like a seasoned stand-up comic. Birch who sat at the other end of the table chimed in only occasionally. He, too, recognized the high that Davies was on and was more than willing to take full advantage of it. Everyone filed out of the meeting full and happy, and when they were all nearly gone, he turned to me with a beatific smile before gathering his notepad and file folder and following the crowd.
I stood there stunned for a full five minutes before I found my way back to my office. Our little interlude the night before had pleased him. I had to think what to do with this revelation. I had to think whether or not I would proceed. It was clear that he saw it as a beginning, but I wasn’t sure it was something I could do or even wanted to do. I got my purse and told Claire, Davies’s assistant cum secretary, that I wasn’t feeling well and was going home for the afternoon.
Davies called, but I didn’t answer the phone so he left a message on my machine expressing his concern and wishing me well. The next morning I’d made up my mind. I handed Bruce a key card to a room I’d rented at a Super 8 off I-75 south. It was clean and catered to families on road trips to Six Flags or Disneyland. I’d stayed there the night before and watched the mothers sit under umbrella-covered tables and sip soda from cans while their kids splashed around in the tiny kidney-shaped pool just off the parking lot. The fathers spent their time loading and unloading SUVs and Volvo station wagons.
He held the key in the palm of his hand as though he wasn’t sure what it was. The hooded look he cast me seemed uncertain for a moment, but it disappeared quickly and turned blank. I told him to go there at nine, to shower well and wear a polo shirt, jeans and sandals, nothing else. He nodded and tucked the key into an inside pocket. He asked no questions and we continued our day as though we hadn’t spoken of the coming evening. We sat through a brainstorming session with the team assigned to Alex’s new furniture line, had lunch with a potential client, met with another client who was less than pleased with the cost of production for a series of thirty-second spots. The day ended just before five after the two of us met with Claire to update our schedules and give Claire instructions regarding letters and contracts that needed to be generated. Through all of this, he never touched me or gave me a look that was out of the ordinary. I followed his lead, but I must admit that I was a bit nervous and suffered from inattentiveness from time to time, but no one seemed to notice.