by Adrian Amos
But then Purple turns around, facing the other way, and lifts her ass up from my body. I feel her hands spread me apart as she sticks her tongue into my pussy from over me. I feel Black shift forward, and I can see her plant her own face in Purple's upturned ass.
And at that, we're all eating each other out in the back seat of their cramped car. The pressure of two girls on top me and that tongue flitting across my clit makes me moan, and as I feel my body start to build, I say, “Stick some fingers in. Fuck my pussy.”
Purple does, and the tightness overwhelms me. She thrusts with force, sucking on my clit while Black pulls on my nipples. I'm eating Black's ass, she's eating Purple's ass, and I just explode. As I begin to arch my back, Black sits completely on my face, her pussy pressed against my mouth.
“Cum into my pussy,” Black says, “Scream into it.” As she grinds into me, I orgasm, moaning and screaming, feeling the vibrations of her folds as all my sound is transferred straight into Black. My mouth feels numb as it pulsates off of Black's lower lips. Once my body relaxes, Black pulls off, allowing me to catch my breath.
As I lie there, spent, Purple shifts back around. I can barely move, but it doesn't matter: Black and Purple take their time kissing and playing with each other on top of me, each grinding their pussies against my stomach and chest. It doesn't take long for me to get soaked from something other than sweat.
“I got your panties,” Purple says, “But my girlfriend wants to keep your bra.”
I nod, not willing to fight the two asses sitting on top of me.
* * *
“Hey,” Mary says, bewildered, “I wasn't expecting you for another few hours.”
I walk into her apartment. “Yeah, I got out early.”
“Well, you smell like you went,” she says. “You stink like sweat. You want to take a shower?”
As I plop down on the couch after another 6 hours of driving, Mary says, “Jesus, Emma, are you not wearing panties?”
“Oops, forgot about that,” I say. I jump up, not wanting to get her couch dirty from my juices. Normally, something like that would embarrass the hell out of me, but after today, I don't know if anything can. “Yeah, let me jump in the shower.”
After I clean up, it's late at night, maybe 2 or 3 in the morning. I throw a towel on and bring my clothes over to the washer. I head to Mary's room where she's already in her pajamas, removing her makeup, getting ready to go to sleep.
“How was the concert?” she asks.
“Eh, it was pretty good.”
“How was Maclin?”
“Eck,” I sigh, thinking about Johnny staring at me as I was getting fucked. “They sucked. I might be looking for a new favorite band after that.”
“Really?” she asked, astonished, knowing that I was a die hard Maclin fan. “What happened?”
“I just realized Johnny's a piece of shit. He just acted like a tool on stage. It just makes me doubt wanting to follow him anymore.”
“That's weird, but okay,” she says, incredulous. She pauses for a moment, thinking to herself. “So why weren't you wearing any panties?” she asks, smiling. It's funny she was thinking about that.
“Why? Wish you could see more?” I tease.
“No,” she stutters, “No, I was just wondering if you got lucky tonight.”
The intensity of what happened runs through me, and the mere thought of it excites me. “You could say that,” I say, smirking to myself.
She laughs, “What happened? Who was it?” Mary is excited to hear about it.
“Uh, someone at the concert. I'll tell you about it later.”
Mary turns back to the mirror to finish her cleanup.
I think about when I was at the concert, when I thought about someone playing with my nipples, and how I thought about Mary doing it. I shook them away before, unwilling to acknowledge them, but the concert showed me that maybe it's something I want. Maybe I'm gay or bisexual or something. I liked what happened, just as much as I liked being with men.
And Mary is someone special to me. My best friend since college. But, even if just for a moment, I thought about her sexually. And she compliments my looks all the time. Maybe she likes me as well, and I was too closed minded about it to realize it.
“Hey, Mary, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“What is it?”
I pause for a second. “Do you like girls?” I ask.
“What?” she asks, turning toward me.
“Are you attracted to girls?”
“Uh,” she says. A long drawn out 'uh' that could only mean one thing, whether the next thing she says acknowledges it or not. “I don't know.”
“Come here,” I say.
She walks over, and just as she gets close, I drop my towel.
She looks at me, stunned, but not saying anything. If she didn't like me, I'd expect her to freak out and scream bloody murder. But she doesn't. She's just quiet.
I lean in and kiss her, her lips soft and pouty, lips I've thought about before but never knew I did until now. As I bring my arms around her, she pulls back, “What are you doing?”
“I'm kissing you, idiot.”
I pull her in hard and drive her against the wall. She responds with a grunt, but I can see in her eyes a sense of lust fills her. She kisses back. I pull her hair and bite her neck. I need her, feeding off the energy I felt when I got fucked by two crazy lesbians.
I know she likes me. I know she's innocent about this.
But I'm not anymore. I want to be rough with my best friend.
“Take your shirt off,” I say as I step back from her.
“Are you sure?” she ask, afraid and timid.
“Yes. Don't you want to be with me?”
She pauses and then nods slowly.
“You have for a while, haven't you?”
She nods again.
“Take your shirt off,” I say again. She brings her arms down and pulls her pajama top over her head, baring her large breasts.
“Drop your pants.” She does, showing me the only pussy I've ever really wanted to see. We're both naked, seeing each other for the first time.
“Come here,” I say. She coyly walks over and I grab her around the waist. I kiss her, long and hard, and think about what I'm going to do to her, just like the goths did to me. I'm going to make her the thing we both need.
I squeeze her hard and look into her eyes.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. I lay her down on the bed.
I just found myself; I just found her for real.
I'm not going to let her go again.
- - -
Conquered by my Boss
She knows.
Why else would she call me to her office at 5:25 on a Friday? I'm just an accountant; she never needs to talk to me, never needs to see me. I do my job and go about my business. I'm basically invisible to her.
And at 5:25? Everyone will be gone in the next 5 minutes. I'm sure she wants the place abandoned when she tells me I'm fired, so I don't cause a scene, or so people don't panic about their finances being affected.
I know I'd panic if my company just lost a whole shit load of money to embezzlement.
But it was so easy. The money kept passing through my desk without much backup paperwork following it. It seemed like it would not be noticed if it disappeared. I didn't think anyone was paying attention.
Obviously, I'm not a master criminal and fucked up somewhere.
Holy shit! I'm a criminal. I didn't really think about that at all. What I was doing didn't seem that messed up at the time. I think that's a problem with white collar crimes; you're just dealing with numbers, and it can be easy to forget that your actually stealing shit.
As I approach her office, I knock on the open door. “Ms. Torr, you wanted to see me?” I ask.
Ms. Torr is the owner of the insurance company I work for. It's small, so she manages it as well. I've always found her to be a stern woman, not one for games
or excuses. It's been the reason I've avoided her as much as possible. She's scary. She's also gorgeous for an older woman. She's about 40, but she's slim with dark hair and large breasts. Beauty and sternness have a way of making people seem even scarier.
She looks up from her paperwork and waves me in, “Yes, Jane, please sit down,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. As I walk in, she also says, “Oh, please close the door.”
Fuck. I turn and close it. I sit down in the chair, even more nervous than before. I cradle my hands together and try not to fidget.
She just looks at me, rubbing her chin. She doesn't say anything for a few moments.
I swallow.
“I've noticed a discrepancy in your paperwork. Would you mind explaining it to me?” she asks, handing me a copy of the reports I had filed yesterday.
I look at them, already knowing what I had done to create that discrepancy. I shake a little. Like an idiot, I hadn't planned on what to do if I got caught.
I look up at her, but I'm silent. I want to speak, but I'm afraid it'll come out as a stutter.
“Uh, you see, uh...” I say, trailing off.
Ms. Torr folds her arms. “What do I see?” she asks, staring me down.
“I don't know,” I say. I finally think that maybe the only gambit I have is to play dumb and find out what she knows. Maybe she doesn't know and thinks it's all an error.
“I think you've been stealing from me,” she says, matter-of-factly.
Shit. So much for playing dumb; I'm just plain dumb.
She's not just my boss; she's the owner. When I think about it, I am literally stealing from her, and it just got a whole lot more personal with that realization.
“I swear, it's not like that,” I say.
“Yes, it is,” she says, emphasizing each word out of anger, “Going back through your files, this isn't a one day occurrence. I've found about $25,000 missing from our accounts. That isn't misplaced decimals or computer error. That, right there, is malicious intent. And from someone like you, willing to stoop this low, is almost frightening.”
I can't speak. I swallow. I'm not a talker. I've never been able to convince anyone of anything; it isn't my strong suit. I'm mousy, if anything. Being a tiny woman with glasses who is opposite of the life of the party tends to get you ignored. Even though Ms. Torr also wears glasses, nothing about her screams mousy.
“I'm so sorry,” I beg her, “I didn't mean for it to get this bad. I wasn't thinking.”
“No, you weren't,” she says, “This looks like the dumbest fucking plan I've ever seen. The way you're moving the money is so obvious that anyone fact checking your work would find it immediately. It's just embarrassing that I only caught you now.”
I look down, ashamed at my own idiocy. Why did I think I'd get away with it? It's not me. I don't do things like this; I wouldn't know how to. I clearly don't.
“Why did you steal from me?” she asks, irritated at my silence.
“I just wanted some extra money. Bills are piling. I'm a shopaholic, I can't control myself.”
“So, you're stealing from me for fucking clothes?” she yells. I think she would have rather had heard any other reason than that.
I nod. She wasn't wrong. I have a nasty habit of buying shoes and dresses and handbags on credit.
I just want to get her away from her anger; I don't want it getting out of control. “So, I assume you're just going to fire me?”
Ms. Torr furrows her brow, seemingly insulted by my words. “No, I'm not just going to fire you. I'm going to bring you up on charges. Get you to pay back what you took and send your ass to prison.”
My eyes go wide. Prison? I thought about it, but I didn't think anyone would waste their time sending me there, with the trials and whatnot.
“Wait, wait, wait. What if I just pay you back? Then you don't need to call the police or anything.”
She laughs, “Since you're a shopaholic, as you call yourself, I say it's fair to assume you don't have the money anymore, do you?”
I sigh. Nope, I spent it all.
“Did you even spend it on your bills?”
I sigh. Nope, I spent it all on new shit. I rub my forehead. “I could just pay you back over time.”
“Really?” she asks, mockingly, “I'm just going to wait around for you? Maybe hope I get my money back in the next 10 years?”
I roll my head. “There's got to be something I can do.”
“You're making it sound like this will be so easy for you to get out from under. I kind of just want to see you in prison right now.” She picks up her phone and begins to dial.
“Wait, no, stop! I'll do whatever it takes,” I scream out.
Ms. Torr pauses. She puts down her phone and sits back in her chair. She steeples her hands and thinks. I wait nervously as she contemplates her verdict.
“Well,” she finally says, “I know you can't pay me back. You will never have the resources to do so.” She stands up and moves around the desk. As she moves on past me, I hear her lock the door to the office. I turn and look at her as she starts to close the blinds. Once she's done, she stands behind me.
“So, you can't pay me back, and even if they send your ass to prison and there's a court mandated order to pay me back, it'll probably take forever. And you don't want to go to prison, correct?”
I nod vigorously. I'm not even built to get ahead in life, I sure as hell wouldn't make it in prison.
She reaches down and plays with a few strands in my hair. “If that's the case, here's how it's going to work. That $25,000 you took? That's a payment. For services,” she says, sitting down on the desk next to me, “Since you can't pay me back, you're going to work it off.”
My mouth is agape. Is she actually giving me an out? I'm happy enough to stutter, “W-What do you need me to do?”
“Whatever I want. You do whatever I tell you, understood? $25,000 is a lot of money, and I expect a lot of service out of it.”
“Are you going to take it out of my pay?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her mouth askew. “No, I can't legally do that, and even if I could, people would ask questions as to why you're not getting paid.”
She shakes her head again as she just stares at me. I know exactly what she's thinking: how did this idiot pull this off?
“No,” she continues, “What you're going to do for me will be special. Only you'll be doing it, and I expect complete cooperation.”
I nod. “I'm ready to do whatever you want.”
“Good,” she says. “Stand up.”
I stand.
She stands up with me and walks behind me. I try to turn toward her, but she puts a hand on my back and pushes my shoulders forward to keep me from turning. “You know,” she says, “You're a cute petite, little girl, and your blouse is cute as well.” She fingers the ruffles under my neck.
Is she trying to kiss up to me? I am small. My 5'3” adds to my mousy stature, especially next to someone like Ms. Torr, who has to be about 5'10”. It probably doesn't help that I wear my hair curly, which makes me look like I'm still in school. And I'm just wearing a plain white blouse and black skirt. It's nothing compared to what Ms. Torr is wearing. She's got a black suit on, with the jacket open to a white dress shirt. Her hair is short, black, and straight, and nothing gives the impression that she's anything but serious.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I think the first thing my money is going to pay for,” she says, heading back around her desk. “Is punishment.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Bend over the desk,” she commands, as she opens a drawer.
“What? Why?” I say in alarm.
She stops and looks up at me, the lines in her face locked into a death stare. “Did I not just say that I am expecting complete cooperation from you?”
“Yes, you did,” I meekly respond.
“Then why are you talking to me? Do you want me to just stop what I'm doing and give a call d
own to security instead?”
I shake my head, “No.”
“Then bend over.” Her business dominance is oozing, and I feel no interest in resisting her power. I bend down and put my elbows on the desk.
Ms. Torr reaches into her drawer and pulls out a wooden paddle. As she walks around the desk, I realize what she's planning on doing, but my mind is still running wild with questions. Why would she have a paddle in her desk? Was she expecting this to happen? What is she getting out of this?
“Reach back and lift your skirt up,” she says.
I don't want it to happen, but what choice do I have? I can't go to prison, and even if I try to resist, I'll get those terrifying business looks from her, and then possibly go to prison anyway.
So I lay my chest on the desk and reach back. My skirt is tight fitting, so I have have to pinch the fabric and shimmy it up as I work my legs back and forth with each pull. I finally get it up over my ass and I bring my hands back forward to support me.
“Stay like that,” she says. I don't move, keeping my chest pressed against the desk. She grabs my white panties and slowly pulls them down. I lift my legs as she pulls them off my feet.
She then runs her hands over my ass, gripping my cheeks with her nails, digging in as she pinches me. I pull my hips in as I feel a warmth travel through me.
She pulls back and swings the paddle. A crack springs through my body, knocking me forward along the desk. It isn't too painful, but the sound and force make my heart leap. She swings again, the paddle board long enough to go across my entire ass all at once.
“I like this Jane. It's money well spent.”
“Yes, Ms. Torr,” I say. She must be a lesbian. I can't see anything that isn't sexual about this. She had this paddle in her desk. She was waiting for this and I walked into her trap.
“Now apologize,” she says, swinging again and connecting with my flesh.
“I'm sorry,” I say.
“For what?” she asks, frustrated at having to ask in the first place. The next swing comes with added heat at my impropriety.