Taking Her Boss

by Alegra Verde

  When I heard the door click and then open, I was finishing up in the bathroom. “Glory,” he called in an almost whisper.

  “Here,” I replied. “Take a seat on the bed. I’m almost done.” I heard the door close, the click of the security lock, followed by the soft swish of the mattress as he sat down. I’d slipped on the thigh high stockings, the black thong and the thigh length black silk robe with the pink dragon embroidered on the back. I’d already done my eyes, shading and lining them with dark colors and brushed out my hair so that it was full and wild. I finished the makeup bit with a smudge of blush, lipstick and a smear of rouge on my nipples as an afterthought. OK. I was ready. All I needed now was courage. He could wait. The wait would be good for him. I slipped my hand deep into my thong and stroked my clitoris and the lips of my vagina until I was moist. The blood rushed into the little nub causing it to jut out between the lips. I held on to the rim of the washbasin to steady my legs. A flush stained my face and my eyes were dark and bright, I moistened my lips with my tongue and smiled at the hot girl in the mirror. Tugging my thong back into place, I stood up, dabbed a quick towel under my breasts to remove any dampness and decided that I was ready to play.

  I opened the door and stood in the tiny space between the closet and the beds. His eyes had apparently been trained on that spot. My rouged breasts and the flat of stomach that ended where the slim black triangle began burned and tingled as his eyes, like fingers, trailed over them. At first, it was difficult not to cover the expanse of exposed skin, to tug the black silk kimono closed, to hide from the hunger in his eyes, but it was exciting, too. It was exciting to let his eyes scorch my skin, to know that he wanted me like that, to see the rawness of it in his face, the way he held his lips.

  I walked to him and stood in front of him, a hairbreadth from his lips, letting him smell me and feel my heat. When he closed his eyes in order to master his control, I moved forward a notch and rubbed my nipples across his lips. His lips and tongue sought my nipples like a new, still blind puppy sucking and lapping, but his hands did not touch me. I let him suckle for a while and then I pulled away.

  “I want you to make me come with your mouth and your hands,” I said as I moved over to the other bed and sat down across from him. Arms straight, I leaned back and opened my legs. In seconds, he was kneeling between them, his mouth on my breasts again making the nipples long and hard and wet, his hands gripping and massaging my ass. He slipped the thong down my thighs and bent to run his tongue down the slight arrow of hair there. I opened wider to him and he began to rasp his tongue against the lips of my pussy as his fingers continued to tug and coax my nipples. I squirmed beneath his assault and his tongue slipped deeper into the moist lips and bumped into the jutting nub. A jolt passed through my body and my legs closed around his head. He rasped his tongue over the nub, nudging it back and forth, as he inserted two wide fingers into my already dripping passage. His fingers created a rhythm counter point to his tongue, and my body began trembling, jerking as I came, but he held me down with his mouth, and he continued to kiss and suck at the continuously tingling lips of my pussy. I had to push his head away before I screamed and startled the families on the other side of the walls. I pushed at his head, but he resisted.

  “I want…” he began as he clutched at my thighs. “May I…?” he was asking, his cheek to my inner thigh as though he was afraid to look up at me.

  “No,” I said, and pushed hard, then harder. “No,” I said louder, and kneed him in the chest. He fell back and landed sprawled on the carpet.

  “No,” I said as I pulled my thong back on and stood. “Don’t touch me unless I give you permission,” I reprimanded as I ground a spiked heel into his jean-clad thigh. Something in me wanted to laugh and say “bad dog” and smack him with a newspaper, but I didn’t have a newspaper and I was glad because I was afraid that it would be too much and that I’d end up breaking character.

  “Get up,” I instructed. “Sit on the bed.”

  He did as he was told. I stood in front of him, my pussy level with his face. He leaned forward. “Don’t touch me.”

  He sat back and waited.

  “Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” I asked.

  He looked away. I grabbed him by the chin and tilted his face upward, rough. His eyes evaded mine. “I asked you a question.”

  He didn’t say anything. I released his chin and slapped him, hard across the face. My fingers left a burning red mark. He flinched and for a moment, his eyes flashed anger. My stomach jumped. Had I overstepped? Hey, you learn by doing.

  I tilted his chin up again and claimed his eyes with mine, making sure that mine were hard, unrelenting. He nodded. I smiled. “Are you a fag?” I asked. He shook his head no. “What do you call it when you let men fuck you?”

  “It was only the one time.” His words were barely audible. “I was curious.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “It hurt at first,” he confessed.

  I stepped back and looked him over.

  “Take off your pants,” I ordered. “I want to fuck you.”

  He stood and slowly, almost reluctantly, unzipped and removed his pants while I went to unpack the strap-on dildo I had bought for the occasion. When I turned to him, his cock was full-on and straining upward. He was well-endowed, thick and long, and for a moment I regretted the limitations I had placed on tonight’s festivities.

  “Come here,” I ordered. “Secure this for me.”

  He came to me and dropped down to his knees in order to reach between my legs to secure the straps, a set of buckles and Velcro with an underside of something soft and cushiony that allowed it to lay and hang comfortably around my hips. His fingers and hands lingered on my inner thighs leaving trails of tingles wherever they touched. I let it go. When he was done, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at me, his thick member straining against the cotton of his polo. My own penis jutted out just where my clitoris sprouted. It was a snub-nosed hard rubber piece, about five inches or so. I didn’t want to hurt him.

  “I want you on the floor between the beds, your face in the carpet, your ass in the air.” I pointed.

  He hesitated.

  “Now,” I ordered.

  He did as he was told.

  I knelt behind him and held the weight of his balls in my hands. Then I bent down and sucked as much of them as I could into my mouth. They were tart and salty. I slid my tongue over and under them stroking with wide wet licks. What I couldn’t touch with my mouth, I fondled with my fingers. He groaned and pushed his bottom further up into the air. I took that as my clue that he was ready for the next step.

  I stuck three of my fingers into a jar of cream that I purchased along with the dildo. The boy behind the counter said it was great for novices, “makes anything go in with ease and it tastes good,” he’d said grinning at me as he took my money. I slid my fingers down the length of his ass, over his balls, and up and through the crevice. His ass trembled. He whimpered. I slid one, then two fingers into the puckered hole and he groaned. I slid another and he whimpered and shivered like a big dog. I pressed my lips to the fleshy part of his ass and took a little bite, then nipped the other side. He pressed himself closer to my face. I reached under him to tug and stroke him, my hands running the length of his rod. It was hot and tight and dripping. He was breathing hard, and I could feel his anticipation. I gripped my own penis with a well-oiled palm, tugging it with a fist a few times to ease the cream over its surface, adding an extra dab for the tip.

  I rose up behind him, pressed my cock to the puckered hole, and pushed, slow at first, but he pushed back against me and I slid in farther. There was a slight protrusion built into the dildo harness that pressed against my clitoris every time I pressed my cock into Bruce. It was addictive. Before long I was banging my cock into Bruce’s tight little ass and every hit sent a series of surges and shivers back to my tight little nub. It seemed to tighten and grow with each thrust. I tensed the muscles of my ass to g
et a harder, firmer thrust. I held on to his hips and let the rush and lighting surge through my body; it was a clean rush of power and pleasure, but I didn’t surrender to it completely. Bruce groaned, a loud surrender, and nearly rose up. I reached under him, gripped, and tugged the length of sex with my slippery fingers. His body jerked and released a spray of semen saturating the carpet. I pulled out and he fell forward covering his mess.

  I left him there, a puddle of sated man, and slipped into the bathroom, packed all of my toys in my overnight kit and slipped back into my jeans and T-shirt. When I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed, still pantless, his cock docile and quiet between a set of well-toned thighs. I picked up my purse from the dresser and headed to the door.

  “Clean up this mess before you leave,” I decreed as I stood near the door. He nodded without looking at me. I stepped out into the night. There were still a couple of kids and their parents around the pool. I could hear the splash as someone jumped in, the lull of conversation, a woman’s laugh and the clink of glasses. I pulled the door closed and made my way back to my car.

  Work was hazy with cubist edges and a fluorescent glare; I wandered around on autopilot. I was no Bruce Davies; I couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something really strange going on between me and my boss. I couldn’t look at him without remembering the size and length of him, the hardness of his thighs and the firmness of backside. I would sit across from him as he sat behind his desk scanning a storyboard while I took notes, and the muscles of my sex would clinch. A dampness would creep between my legs and I’d think of little scenarios that we could act out right there on his desk with my legs wrapped around his head. I was afraid that he could sense my arousal, smell me as I sat across from him. But he was as stoic as ever. Well, not really stoic, his spirits were good, and he was quite personable to everyone he encountered. But he seemed unfazed by our episodes and impervious to my discomfort. Okay then, it was me. I had to learn to cope or to desist. I chose the latter. Oh, it had been fun, the intrigue, the fulfillment of fantasies, but I wasn’t cut out for the aftermath, the lingering arousal, and yes, the guilt.

  A series of cold showers and a call from Alex a week later helped me to stick to my guns. We had dinner and an evening of normal but very hot sex in his hotel room followed by a stiff morning ride before he had the town car drop me home to get dressed for work. Alex, unlike Bruce, was not one to ignore a night of hot sex.

  Claire informed me that Bruce had been looking for me so I headed into his office as soon as I dropped my purse and briefcase on my desk. Alex was sitting at the circular table near the rear of Bruce’s office. Bruce stood over a bottle of Dom Pérignon in a bucket of ice. He was twisting the corkscrew into the bottle as I walked in.

  “We’re celebrating,” Bruce said to me. “Alex wanted to wait for you.”

  “You’re pleased with the campaign?” I asked Alex.

  He actually stood up, took my hand and drew me to the table to stand between the two of them.

  “He’s so pleased that he’s giving us a crack at the shoes and clothing lines.” Bruce popped the cork and poured the wine into the waiting glasses.

  “It means I’ll have to visit more often,” he said, and leaned in to plant a kiss that ended up getting lost somewhere in my hair because I tried to dodge it under the guise of reaching for the champagne glass that Bruce held out to me.

  Alex laughed, “We have nothing to hide from Bruce. He’s seen us at our most vulnerable.”

  Bruce sipped from his glass, but said nothing.

  There was logic to that, but Alex was not aware of all that had transpired between me and Bruce since that night in my office. But Bruce remained silent. Maybe it didn’t matter to him. Maybe he expected a woman who orchestrated clandestine perversions to have multiple lovers. Maybe he was fine with it as long as he got his share.

  “To a long and fruitful alliance.” Bruce held his glass out to ours. The glasses clinked. I drained mine and held it out for a refill. Maybe he thought this was normal for me. I drained the second glass.

  “I’d better get back to work,” I said, putting my glass down on the table.

  “I thought we’d have breakfast,” Alex said, capturing my hand again.

  “I’ve got to see legal about the contracts,” I adlibbed.

  “Bruce won’t mind if you come away with me for a few hours,” Alex coaxed. He directed his words at Bruce, but continued to look at me.

  “There are a few things pending that require Glory’s touch.” Bruce’s words were a balm. “Maybe she could issue you a rain check.”

  “Tonight,” Alex said, using my captured hand to draw me to him.

  “I’ll call you when I’m done,” I said as I slipped my hand out of his, offered him a placating smile and headed back to my office. Enough already. Alex stayed another week to oversee the opening of a new store, an uptown boutique that featured his company’s high-end line. It kept him busy and he didn’t seem to even notice that I had been dodging him. When I showed up to represent the agency at the store’s inauguration, he was affable and warm. I rewarded his nonchalance by fucking him senseless in the back of the limousine as we took a long ride along the riverfront and through the park. He was so attentive that I was sorry I had put him off all week. But I wasn’t too sad when I rode with him to the airport to see him off. He held me in his arms and nuzzled my neck as the chauffeur pulled his luggage from the trunk. It felt good to bask in the shelter of his body, the heat of his chest pressed against my cheek. He is an affectionate man, a good man, and I felt sated, normal. I could go back to my life, the way it was before Mr. Davies became Bruce, before that night.

  “Glory!” I could hear him through the door. I pretended not to, but his bellow was followed by the long shadow of his frame as it filled the doorway. “Why haven’t you followed up on this?” He waved a folder. “You said you wanted more responsibility. I give it to you, and this is what happens.” He slid the folder onto my desk and stormed back to his. I was hoping that he would slam the door behind him, but he left it open suggesting that he wasn’t quite finished with his rant. I waited, expecting a follow-up, but he’d shifted his ire to Claire. I could hear him demanding that she stay after to finish the correspondence she’d failed to complete. “I wanted to sign them before I leave,” he fumed. Claire apologized, explaining that he’d only given them to her an hour ago. “Be that as it may,” he said, ignoring her reasoning, “I want them on my desk first thing in the morning so they can go out with the morning mail.” I looked at the folder he’d given me. Just as I suspected, it was awaiting an adjusted budget. Accounting had promised to email it to me within the week. I sent Somers, the department manager, a reminder, turned off my computer, grabbed my sweater and headed out the door.

  I mouthed goodbye to Claire, and she tilted her head in Davies’s direction and mouthed, “What’s his problem?” I shrugged and double-timed it to the elevator. I didn’t want to have to ride down with him, but I wasn’t fast enough. I was standing there pushing the button for the third time when he came up behind me.

  “Long day,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, and pushed the button again.

  “A drink?” he asked.

  “I’m tired,” I offered, still with my back to him.

  “Just one,” he said, and then added, “I want to talk.”

  “Where?”

  “Dottie’s.”

  “Okay.”

  He followed me in silence onto the elevator. Neither of us said a word as we left the building side by side and walked the two blocks down the street to the seedy little bar that still boasted the tall oak booths that must have been Dottie’s grandfather’s pride and joy when it had opened in the 1940s. The bar, which according to Dottie had been named for her grandmother, was known for its burgers, and did a brisk lunch business with the office workers in the area. At night, the crowd was a bit more colorful, more Dickies and less Brooks Brothers. When we got there, the place
was almost empty. A couple of guys nursed drinks at the bar, and there was one guy eating a burger with his beer in one of the front booths. We took the booth all the way in the back. Bruce ordered burgers for both of us, beer for him, and vodka and cranberry juice for me. It was what we always had at Dottie’s. “Do you want fries?” he asked. I shook my head no. The waiter disappeared with our order.

  Bruce loosened his tie. “It’s been over a month, Glory,” he said as though we had been in the midst of a conversation.

  The waiter brought our drinks. He placed the cocktail napkins in front of us then sat the drinks on them. I thanked him and he was gone. I removed the tiny straw and sipped my drink.

  “Is it Alex?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, and took another sip.

  “I don’t like it,” he said as though I hadn’t spoken, “but I can live with it. I just don’t like being shut out.”

  “It’s not Alex. It just makes me uncomfortable.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while. He drank from his glass, and finally asked, “What makes you uncomfortable?”

  “It’s just not me.” I looked at him, into his eyes so he could see how I felt.