Bad Boy Boss

by Abby Chance

  We stopped for lunch and he pulled a corned beef out of the oven.

  “You like Reubens or straight?” he asked, pulling a loaf of rye marbled with pumpernickel from the bread box.

  “How do you have it?” I asked.

  “Aioli mustard, cole slaw, thousand island,” he answered.

  “Never tried it; be gentle with the virgin,” I said.

  Truth be told, I didn’t know what a Reuben was and had only eaten corned beef that wasn’t in a hash under an egg twice, and both times it was with cabbage. His sandwich was excellent.

  My nipple got hard about the third time he ‘adjusted’ my breast. And my bush was just embarrassing because it was glistening a bit in the spotlights, well he managed to brush it every time he adjusted my leg. I put my hand over his, moved it to my nipple and looked him in the eye. I didn’t say anything, just went for the kiss. You can only get touched in those places so many times before the pressure builds up. And I was so turned on, I couldn’t just stand there and take it anymore. I was stark naked, so there were plenty of buttons to push… and he seemed to know where each one was. The inside of my arms, along the sides of my breasts, down my back, it didn’t take him long to have me shivering. Then he started to go down on me. He kissed my breasts, down over my stomach, then he was on his knees, his tongue sending thrills along my lips and up onto my clit. He got his fingers between my lips and moved his thumb over my clit, rolling it with a gentle pressure and alternating with his tongue licking across it.

  His fingers slipped inside me, curled up and then flicked across my G-spot. With his tongue on my clit and his fingers massaging my G-spot, the orgasm was inevitable. He must have missed the first one because he didn’t stop until the shudder that accompanied the second one shook me from head to toe.

  “You are so going to bed with me tonight,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything. He walked into the bathroom, and came out smelling like Lavoris. He posed me again and went back to his drawing routine. This happened around one o’clock, and when we finally quit a few hours later, I was hot again. He was good looking, gentle and had his hands all over me all day long; I wanted to feel him inside me so bad I was almost dripping on the dais when he said it was time to quit.

  I dressed; he was still working on the drawings when I came out from behind the screen.

  “If you look in the meat keeper, you’ll find two steaks,” he said. “There is a cast iron grill in the drawer below the oven that fits across two burners. Leave it with both burners on high for five minutes. Rare is three minutes a side, medium is five; I like rare. Slice tomatoes and red onions with Russian dressing. I’ll make the martinis and bring a bottle of red wine at six o’clock.”

  Then he stepped up to me and put a hand in the middle of my back, and one on my breast, pulling me into him. As hot as I was already, my nipple went hard almost immediately. Then he kissed me, licked my lips and did it again. “You are so going to get fucked tonight,” he said and turned back to his drawings.

  Crossing back over to my cabin in the afternoon wasn’t cold at all; in fact it was rather nice. A squirrel jumped between the two oak trees over the door and startled me. I was feeling good, and I wondered if he was falling for me. I wouldn’t admit it to him, or anyone else for that matter, but I was certainly falling for him. I had never been touched quite so gently, never had five orgasms with any man. The squirrel chattered at me.

  “Okay,” I said. “I admit it, he’s getting to me.” The squirrel chattered back. “And you just keep your little mouth shut.”

  I found the steak and the grill. I even found a mandolin slicer in the very nicely appointed kitchen, once I started investigating. It sort of made me a little ashamed that I rebelled against my mother’s attempts to teach me to cook. I sliced a tomato and a small red onion, alternating slices on two salad plates. A former boyfriend went to cooking school so I knew some tricks, but no real cooking. I found a flavor injector and a bottle of A-1 sauce. Taking the needle off of the injector, I knew I could draw a circle of A-1 sauce around a steak. It didn’t do anything really, except look cool, but then it was one of the few culinary techniques I actually knew.

  He showed up at six, just as he said he would. I turned on the burners under the grill while he made the drinks. I didn’t change from the leggings and boots I wore to work. I did take off the sweater, which left me in a halter-top with no bra. I mean, he had been looking at me in the altogether all day; it was sort of hard to dress up to that.

  He surrendered the kitchen side of the bar to me and sat on one of the barstools on the other side.

  “Are you beginning to see what I meant about the relationship between an artist and his model?”

  “Today wasn’t abnormal?”

  “You have been my model for one day and I’m guessing no man has ever touched you as I have… or for that matter, as much,” he said. “I have to feel you as much as look at you to draw you. Physically, there is no man who knows you as well as I already do. And no man who has ever been as excited over you as you make me.”

  “I could say the same. No man but you has ever given me multiple orgasms. I was so turned on most of the day that I was afraid it was showing. It was embarrassing me.”

  “It was showing, but it’s no reason to be embarrassed,” he responded. “It’s charming, beautiful, flattering. Wasn’t I appropriately grateful?”

  Well, that sort of made me turn scarlet. “I don’t know how appropriate it was, but it sort of gave the day a high point.”

  “The day isn’t over yet,” he said and I just knew I blushed right over a blush.

  “You did this with her and she married a doctor? Obviously a gynecologist.”

  “A psychologist, if you must know. Actually, a professor at Cal Poly.”

  “She was Jewish?”

  “I’m not overly religious,” he said. “I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell.”

  “So I was raised Irish Catholic. You?”

  “Episcopalian, if pressed.”

  “Okay, well the first Jewish American president gets elected. He calls his mother and tries to get her to go to Camp Alex for a weekend. She says she has a Canasta game, but he finally convinces her. She calls her friend Cele to cancel the Canasta game.

  ‘I can’t make it this weekend,’ she says. ‘My son insists I spend the weekend with him.’

  ‘The doctor?’ Cele asks.

  ‘No,’ the mother says, ‘ the other one.’”

  He stayed on the subject. “She was blond and softer than you are, a little broader in the hips, smaller in her breasts and about two inches taller. She lacked your sensitivity in most of the nerve bundles, but if you stroked the inside of her arms and legs, she’d drip like you did on the dais. She’s gone. Maybe she will be replaced by a little redheaded Irish spitfire who has the audacity to tell her boss how to go about his job.”

  “She hurt you pretty badly.That’s never happened to me. Maybe I’ve guarded myself well, or I didn’t run into the right guy. You sent me into Never Never Land today, Peter. You can hurt me; please don't. Let’s just try this and see how that works out.”

  He nodded. “The red glass on the top of the refrigerator is exactly three minutes, the yellow one is five. Let’s do some steak.”

  He reached over the bar and ran his middle finger down my nose, brushing my cheek with his two fingers.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, and I blushed again over a blush that hadn’t completely faded.

  A martini and half a bottle of wine should have left me a bit numb, but it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to put a sharper edge on everything. After dinner we moved to the couch. He kissed me and we were immediately into it. His hand went under my top and my nipple was being brushed into little thrills I could feel between my legs. He played with kissing me by teasing me, licking my lips and brushing my face with his fingertips. He switched from the nipple he was brushing with his fingers and started to massage my whole breast.

  I
reached down to take off my top, but he stopped me.

  “One of the best things about a gift is unwrapping it,” he said, pulling me a little closer and really making an impression on my rock hard nipple.

  I took his advice and started unbuttoning his shirt; he didn’t stop me. When I got his shirt off, he pulled my top over my head and drew my naked breasts into his chest, massaging and manipulating my back so that my nipples were almost electric against him.

  We stayed topless on the couch and time just disappeared for a while. Like we were teenagers at a drive-in with no need for a speaker. Eventually, I turned over and straddled his leg. I was hot and wet and I needed the contact. It didn’t take that long to orgasm, it was all someplace beyond hot and I was losing it when he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.

  I undid his pants as he unzipped my boots and set them aside. He dragged the top of my leggings down over my hips; then his fingers were under my panties and in one smooth motion, I was naked with his head between my breasts kissing down to my navel. He stuck his tongue in my navel and started to climb back up me, kissing every inch or so, then paying some extra attention with his tongue to my breasts and nipples. Basically, he climbed up into me and lay on top and inside of me while I squealed and wiggled with the sensations.

  When he came, I stuck my tongue deep in his mouth to avoid the loud declaration I wanted to make. Shivering, totally conquered and dominated, I just wanted to say I love you, but knew I shouldn’t.

  He rolled off me, turned me around and lay against my back. He reached over and held my breast in one hand; the other was under my waist and, over my stomach, pulling me against him. He stroked me a bit as my body processes plip-plopped their way back into some form of normalcy.

  I was relaxed, luxuriating in his touch. He was the gentlest man I had ever been with. Posing me or making love to me, nothing bumped or banged, everything was gentle, soft and wonderful. I was starting to drift off to sleep, when he moved his hand from over my breast down over my stomach and between my legs exciting me again. It didn’t take a lot.

  He slowly rolled me toward him, and then he entered me again, up on my side. He pulled my leg up on his side with his hand over my knee. He pulled me close and moved me in a small circular motion, which rubbed my clit against him with rising excitement.

  He kissed me. “Some people say that the second time is the best,” he said.

  “That really hasn’t been my experience with it.” I stumbled over the last couple words and turned red; he’d hit just the right spot and I shivered. “Oh shit, I guess they’re right. Oh, God.”

  He just kept it up and I wasn’t sure where I was for a while. I was lost in sensations I’d only touched on fleetingly. When he came that second time, it was like someone set off a cannon that blasted every nerve ending in my body. Everything was tingling, shivering, alive and begging for attention. I didn’t know I could squeeze anything as hard as I was holding on to him.

  I ended up falling asleep against him and partially on him; my breasts were on his chest and my cheek on his shoulder. I was warm and tired and fell asleep easily and deeply.

  I woke to someone nibbling at my earlobe, then kissing my neck. When I turned to look, I got kissed and there didn’t seem to be a good reason to stop that. I felt a hand between my legs and my vagina lips slowly, wetly opening with a constant rolling pressure against my clit.

  “Do you like to do it in the morning?” he asked. Like I had a choice; I wasn’t even awake and I was hotter than the hinges of hell.

  “First time I ever w-w… woke up with someone’ssss hand b-between my legs.” I struggled to get the words out.

  With one finger, he was rubbing the inside of my pelvic bone. He seemed to flick the rest randomly, but I’m sure he could tell by listening to me when he hit home.

  “I keep hearing evidence of your sexually-retarded upbringing. Didn’t you listen when you and your mom had the talk?”

  “I - oh crap, you just made me cum.”

  He put me up on my side again and pushed inside me. I moved my leg up of my own accord, but that didn’t stop the attack on my knee, and that damn nerve bundle was working overtime.

  Well, that started the day with a bang; I wasn’t sure whether that was fact or pun, probably a bit of both. It was early; it was light, but there was no sun yet in the soft morning dawn. But, like the day before, it was crystal clear and really cold looking.

  He came and once again, it blew off the socks I wasn’t wearing. Then I just grabbed him and held on for a while. I admit it, I was totally overwhelmed and if I were given the choice, I could have stayed in bed with him until some politician got pissed at some other politician and blew up the world.

  He didn’t seem disposed to let me go for a while either, and that was nice; really nice. Guys bang you and roll over to sleep, then jump up in the morning and rush away. Most guys even bang you with a bang, not gentle or anything. This had been the best night and morning of my life so far. If I got up it would be to call Guinness and report.

  Eventually he put his hand under my chin and tipped my head up to look in my eyes. “What do you feel like, eggs and something, waffles or pancakes?”

  “What kind of waffles?” I asked. “I mean there are waffles and then there are waffles. You have a spinning Belgian waffle maker and a toaster; either one can produce a waffle.”

  “I have a spinning whisk that I can use with cream, a touch of Crème Fraise, and simple syrup. Then I use the Belgian waffle maker and add strawberry preserves. That work?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Go take a shower; I’ll make the waffles and meet you in the studio in an hour.”

  “What kind of a job is this; no sick days?”

  He grinned. “And what sort of affliction do you have?”

  “It has a long, involved, Latin name which roughly translated means, ‘an intense, inescapable compulsion to spend the rest of the day naked in your arms in bed.’”

  “You have a doctor’s note?”

  So I just kissed him and we kept that up for a while. Then he turned me down.

  “While the condition is clear, the cure is work, not play.”

  And then he did an inexcusable thing and rolled out of bed. Since we had been kissing I was, well, receptive, and he sort of took advantage with his hand in my crotch and on my breasts. So when he got up to make the waffles, my nipples were hard as rocks and my crotch was gushing.

  I dressed warmly, knowing that the high altitude would turn the air sharp-edged on a cold breeze between the cabin and the studio. Apparently the squirrel had adopted me because it chattered a “goodbye” as I headed off to an arduous day in the nude. For some reason, he reminded me of Mickey Mouse… probably the high pitched chatter. I dubbed him Mickey. and traded goodbyes with him.

  Peter was waiting for me, even though I cut the hour to forty-five minutes.

  It was work, on my end anyway. To be a good model took complete concentration. You just couldn’t move and if you lost concentration, you would. Peter made it easy for me by breaking usually under ten minutes, but I would challenge anyone to try it. Hold absolutely still for ten minutes, right after someone just brushed your pubes positioning your leg. Most can’t do it. He would pose me again for the next ten minutes, and that was like major work after the night we’d just spent together. I mean the willpower it took not to just pull his legs out from under him and rape him right there on the floor was incredible. At two o’clock, I was so turned on again that I actually noticed that I dripped on the dais. For the first time in my life, my job was a high stress position.

  An hour later, he stopped; instead of posing me, he kissed me.

  “Okay, you’ve proven that you are the most beautiful, sexy and desirable woman in the world,” he said. “And we still spent the day working.”

  “You believe that?”

  “You aren’t what? Beautiful? I start to sketch you and have to stop because you take my breath away.


  “Sexy? Last night didn’t convince you? Well, another night is falling.

  “Desirable? That is why you’re here. Get dressed.”

  I got dressed and walked out; he had a piece of sketch paper on his board.

  “Okay,” he said, “you are here.” He poked a dot on the paper. “South is the forest, this is the 600 block, the San Bernardino forest is over 800 straight south. You are 610-620 Los Angeles. No one delivers mail here, so it’s just a way to be found. Two blocks north is Laurel. I knew a very special lady with that name, so I center everything on it in Sugarloaf.”

  “Tell me about Laurel.”

  “Later.”

  “Now, Peter. I’ve leaked all over your damn dais all day.”

  “At my cabin, I promise. First subject…”

  “I have no idea where your cabin is.”

  “So shut up and listen. You go two blocks north to Laurel. The studio is south of the cabin. Turn right, go six blocks to Highland. The second cabin to the south on the west, the right side is 402.” He stopped there and swept me up in his arms. He kissed me and let me go.

  “I expect you at six,” he said. “Not at five-forty-five, at six.”

  I dressed up. I had a skirt that was cut almost to my waist, it was a wrap and fell off with a flick of the waistline clamp. Next came dancer’s tights, shimmering in silver, then boots in black, polished until they were mirrors. I chose a silk halter top in an alligator pattern and no bra. This was topped with a leather bolero; almost too cold, too revealing.

  Mickey chattered his goodbye again as I took off for dinner. I found Laurel and followed directions. His cabin had parking space in front, but no garage. The great room and kitchen were a bit bigger than in my cabin with a bedroom and bath correspondingly smaller, as both cabins seemed the same size. The setup was also similar, with a bar separating the kitchen from the great room.

  He was cooking in the kitchen as I came in. Yes, I knocked and yes, he yelled, “Come in.” I took off my jacket, hung it up and then sat on one of the bar stools, which made my skirt fall open.

  “The subject was Laurel,” I said.