by Jade West
Her innocence.
Her nerves.
And it shouldn’t have been. My thoughts about sweet little Jenny were nothing short of professionally disgusting.
All I could think of was tearing that coffee stained blouse from those perky little tits and feasting on her nipples until she whimpered for me. Of her tight little cunt so ripe and pink, sucking on my fingers as they stretched her open.
Her puckered little asshole winking from between those glorious fucking ass cheeks.
I wanted it all. Every sweet little dirty part of her.
I wanted to take her so rough she’d feel me for days. To pound that tender little pussy so hard she’d scream my name.
And I wanted it all right then and there. Just as I’d wanted her every fucking day since I’d seen her pretty face on my social media timeline. Just as I’d worked my dick every fucking night after she’d stared at me so sweetly across the meeting room.
Like I was a god amongst mere mortals.
Like I was her fucking boss and she wanted to impress me, more like it.
Even thinking about her was playing with fire.
Offices and relationships don’t mix. Ever.
Scrap that. Relationships were a whole other level.
Offices and sex don’t mix. Especially not when one of the parties is half your age and the daughter of a woman you used to go to school with.
The thought had sobered me up strongly enough for the past two months that I figured it would still hold sway in the face of coffee-covered tits, but I was delusional as all shit.
Recriminations meant nothing to my traitorous dick. Not one single fucking thing.
The moment the knock on my door came and Richard walked right on through with her laptop under his arm was enough to make my mouth water.
A delicious excitement. A shiver down my spine.
I couldn’t deny the thrilling ghost of intuition, and I’m normally not far out in my judgement.
I all but snatched the laptop from his grip as he handed it across my desk.
“Issue with one of the drivers, should be fixed now,” he grunted.
“Anything else of note?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t go looking, got enough on my plate to get done.”
He didn’t even wait for me to send him on his way. He was almost out through the door when I summoned him back for her login details.
I watched him intently as he typed in her password, filing it away to memory.
Username: JennyM
Password: sweetlittlejenjen
She was a sweet little jen jen alright.
I didn’t even wait for my office door to close behind him before I was clicking my way through her browser history.
Work shit, client websites, weather forecasts…
Christmas shopping…
Nothing hugely of note.
The disappointment racked through me in waves before I decided to click on her local documents file. I was resigning myself to coming up empty-handed when I spotted the Jenny’s stuff folder.
Bingo.
My heart bloomed in dark twisted bliss.
Jenny’s stuff was exactly what I was looking for. And absolutely nothing that I was expecting.
The girl must have been some kind of prolific writer in her spare time. Document upon document titled with various random names.
Stationery cupboard. Overtime. Office kitchen. Files and files of random office locations which meant little to me until I discovered one little gem amongst the icons.
First time anal.
I had to blink to be certain, staring at that title like a man possessed by nothing fucking holy.
Clicking that document came so fucking easy, but what didn’t come so easy was seeing my name on the screen in black and white.
I’d been dreaming of Mr Hart being the one to take my virgin ass since the very first moment I saw him…
I had to read the sentence three times through before the implication fully dawned on me.
I scanned the document over and over and back and forth before I read it from the top, bemused and ecstatic all at once in one filthy twisted mess of a package.
I was no fucking idiot. I knew the girls in the office looked at me. I knew she looked at me.
I’d seen it in her eyes when I was talking in meetings. I’d seen it in the way she’d flush and look at the table top and not at me when I said her name.
I’d seen it in the way her body shied so deliciously from mine in the office kitchen.
Quiet.
Understated.
Addictive.
I’d seen all of it, and wanted more of it, and every single time my dick had made it clear just how much more of it I wanted, I’d shut it down as being well and truly out of fucking bounds.
And yet there I was, with these young girl’s filthy words at my fingertips, and littered right through them was my name.
My name and her name, over and over.
The sweet young girl I’d seen on her mother’s social media profile wasn’t anywhere to be seen in her literature. The stuff wasn’t cute teenage-style ramblings about a boss crush, or a humorous outpouring of trashy fantasy.
It was dark. Dirty.
Deep and raw and dripping with need.
And I felt all of it.
Every fucking word, and every single word of it went straight to my cock.
I should’ve closed it down and condemned it as an abuse of company hardware. I should’ve hauled her in here and asked why she was storing such obscenity on her work laptop, fighting the the urge to bend her over my desk and spank her tight little ass for her cheekiness.
I should’ve done anything other than read that file from top to bottom until my fist finally wandered down enough to loosen my belt and slip inside.
Jenny wasn’t just a filthy little bitch, she was also a talented one. The words flowed from the page like magic, fluid and provocative and horny as all living fuck.
Her descriptions of me were both flattering and apt. She’d captured everything from the way my jaw hardened in agitation to the way my brows furrowed when I was concentrating. She’d noticed the length of my fingers and the broad span of my hands. The way I paced with purpose when moving from one part of the office to another.
How my thighs strained in my suit trousers when I was rising from sitting.
How my dick hung slightly to the right when I leaned against the worktop in the company kitchen.
How big I’d likely be when hard.
How much it’d hurt when I pushed the head of my cock inside her tight little virgin asshole.
My hips shunted forward as I worked my dick faster under the desk. The heat was building behind my eyes, temples pounding with the need to shoot my load, but I couldn’t stop reading.
I clicked from that file to another, grunting out loud to find that stationery cupboard was a story about me slamming her hard into the filing cabinets and pumping her full of my cum as she begged me for more.
Overtime told the tale of me keeping her late for a disciplinary and ordering her to strip naked and spread-eagle herself on the meeting room table. I read in glorious detail how I slapped her pussy until she cried and promised she’d learned her lesson.
Office kitchen saw her on her knees, milking my cock with her pretty mouth until I was ready to jizz into her coffee mug. In the story, I made her drink it down instead of milk and she told me it was delicious.
Sweeter than creamer.
That’s probably the thing that first made me realise she hadn’t done any of these things in real life.
Nobody wants spunk in their coffee, not even a dirty little girl like Jenny, and it sure doesn’t taste like creamer.
But fuck how I wanted to make her taste her own filthy fucking words and find out her mistake for herself.
I came in my open palm, my teeth gritted and my breath hissing loud. I came so hard that my ears rung and my thighs tensed and twitched in my seat as I bucked and jerked an
d cursed out loud.
I caught my breath in long gulps as the regular office noises filtered back into my senses — footsteps, the hum of the printer, muted laughter from the girls next door.
And then I did a whole load more digging on sweet little jen jen.
Holiday deadlines be as damned as my fucking soul.
Chapter Five
Jenny
With my laptop undergoing therapy down in the IT room, my desk was pretty barren. I tried to busy myself with paper shuffling, sorting my latest batch of delivery schedules into neat alphabetically ordered piles, but it didn’t help any.
It didn’t matter how many kind words Kristina had heaped in my direction, I knew there would be no coming back from the discovery of smutty boss-centred stories if they managed to see the light of day.
My poor cheeks were still on fire and my nerves were still jittering, and I only had myself to blame. It was one of those well-deserved serves you right things that comes from making a dumbass slip up.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasised about Mr Hart stumbling across my stories. I mean, sure I had — usually with my hand down my knickers and my clit about twenty seconds from orgasm. Exactly the same way I’d fantasised about Mr Fletcher bumping into my anonymous journal account online and putting two and two together to make fuck yeah, let’s get it on with my barely legal student. But this was real life. Real life in my real job, and Mr Hart was my real life boss with the real life power to fire my sorry ass.
I couldn’t even imagine how I’d explain this crap to my mum if I ended up back in Cornwall with my tail between my legs.
My brain was zooming around in circles, getting nowhere fast, and it didn’t matter how many times I promised the universe that I’d learned my lesson and would strip Jenny’s Stuff of anything even vaguely incriminating the very minute I got through the door that evening. Every minute that passed made it more likely that either one, my laptop was screwed beyond repair, or two, that I’d already been discovered and Mr Hart was working out my severance package with personnel that very second.
Kristina tossed me another friendly grin and a thumbs-up across the room, but I could barely force a smile in response.
And there it was, under the fear and the humiliation and the abject misery at the prospect of getting found out as a good girl gone bad. That flicker of sadness way down deep.
Because I liked it here.
I liked my job, and I liked the thought that it could really be going somewhere.
I liked my Friday evening drinks after work with the other girls, even if I didn’t know them all that well yet.
I liked Kristina’s morning routine of putting the radio up a little louder, and the way Kay huffed through her email pings before she’d even grabbed a coffee.
And I liked him. The gorgeous Mr Hart.
Not just because he had fingers that looked like they belonged inside me every time he pointed out something in the meeting room, and not because I could see the outline of his dick in his suit trousers when he leaned against the kitchen worktop when he was making himself an afternoon tea.
I liked him because he was powerful enough to radiate testosterone across fifty feet, but still managed to be fair with everyone in the office. He was strong, but wasn’t a bully. He drove us hard, but was working just as hard right along with us.
Sure, he didn’t seem to say thanks all that often, but when he did it really meant something. He asked a lot, but he gave a lot with it. Our annual leave here was more generous than anything my uni friends had landed in their new positions. The sick benefits in my employment contract were much more generous than they needed to be.
Not only that, but he was smart enough to explain complex filtration technology across the desk at me when I was still a newbie with no way of knowing the difference between a micron and a microbe. And he managed to do it without making me feel like a totally ignorant dumbass.
That’s someone who has confidence and brains, without the kind of arrogance that means they treat you like an inferior species.
I took a breath and filed the rest of the paperwork in a binder.
I could beg for my job if it came to it. Promise I’d learned the error of my ways and drop to my knees and cry for forgiveness until he showed mercy. Still, in light of the fact that most of my stories involved begging for his dick in some way or another I doubted that would be the smartest course of action.
He’d probably think I was a dirty little slut behind my girl next door freckles, and that would be the biggest shame of all, because I’d spent my whole life – ok, sure, the little I’d spent of it so far — wishing, hoping, praying that a man like him would be the one to show me every filthy thing I’d ever dreamed of, and so far no one had even come close.
I hadn’t looked twice at the college lads through university. No Mikey, or Steve, or Brooklyn was going to fling me over his shoulder after a football game and slam me a quick one behind the changing rooms.
I wanted more than that.
I wanted experience, and maturity, and authority and drive and determination.
I wanted a man who’d take what he wanted and leave me a whimpering, squelchy mess of fuck yes!
I wanted everything.
Mr Hart would be everything. For sure.
I was more than sure he’d be everything I ever wanted.
Urgh. I could have happily slammed my forehead into my desk just to shut down my own inner freak out.
I’d still been in the middle of penning my latest fantasy. It was a Christmas cracker of epic proportions. Arguably the most humiliating of them all — and the one I’d likely now never get the chance to finish let alone act out one day. One festive tale of my hot, older boss being the one to claim my virginity as his Christmas gift.
I’m aware it may sound crazy that I’d have gone all the way through university gripping tight to my V card, but not so crazy when all the pieces are put together.
When I was a kid it was just me and Mum, and there was nothing wrong with that whatsoever. Mum was great. She’s kind and funny and was always there to pick me up when I needed a hand. She was at enough school events for two parents combined and she always made sure I had enough of everything to do just fine.
I was a happy kid, and she was a happy mum, but a happy woman in love, she was not.
She had an endless string of boyfriends from when I was still too young to work out what they were doing there. Enough uncle Ryans and Teddys and Burts that I stopped taking the slightest bit of notice when they started calling in at teatime and bunking up with Mum in the bedroom next to mine.
There was no point getting attached to any of them. They’d be idiots or assholes enough to last a few months tops. To be honest, it was barely worth me remembering their names.
Some of them would try. Some of them would even try pretty hard, especially at this time of year, but it didn’t matter.
The thing was that I didn’t want an uncle anything.
I wanted a daddy.
A real daddy who’d come sledging in the snow at wintertime and put on a stupid Santa outfit and watch Christmas TV with me.
That’s what was on my Christmas list every single year — the one I never showed Mum. My secret Christmas list.
Santa, please bring me a daddy. I’ve been a good girl this year, I promise.
That’s what I’d been writing about last night. Only these days my Santa wish wasn’t for a daddy to read me a bedtime story, and I definitely hadn’t been a good girl that year.
Now my wish for a daddy was a man who could treat me like his sweet little princess. Who’d be strong and kind and fair. Who’d make me feel safe and loved and wanted.
And who’d punish me when I was bad.
Yeah, that too.
The prospect of slamming my forehead into my desk for real was getting more appealing every second, and since I wasn’t just a shrinking little violet who wanted a Christmas daddy, but a young professional trainee logistics man
ager with a laptop out of service, I figured it was time I sucked it up and pulled my shit together.
If I was going to be fired, why delay the inevitable?
I picked up my office handset and dialled the extension for IT.
My mouth was bone dry when Richard himself answered, but still I managed to stumble through my reason for calling.
“It’s Jenny from upstairs,” I told him, “and I need my laptop for this afternoon’s delivery schedules. I was just wondering if you’d be done anytime soon?”
Oh, how my pulse thumped as he took a breath of his own.
“It’s done,” he told me, and I punched the air in a tidal wave of relief.
Until he took another breath, and kept on talking.
“I took it up over an hour ago. Mr Hart has it in his office.”
Oh, how the tidal wave turned into a tsunami of doom.
“Give him a knock,” he continued. “Laptop is good to go.”
And so was I.
I had a feeling I’d be good to go myself real damn soon.
Chapter Six
Jackson
Jenny’s laptop was a far bigger treasure trove of insight than I’d first anticipated. I found her personal email address logged in her browser history, and automatic sign in was checked.
Under anything like normal circumstances I’d have shied far away from this kind of invasion of privacy, but having just read ream upon ream of personally documented descriptions of the way my manhood hung in my suit trousers, I wasn’t feeling quite so willing to adhere to professional ethics.
I’d already copied every single one of those documents to my laptop for closer examination later, but having unloaded my balls under my office desk once already, I was now on the hunt for more insight into my naughty little trainee.
Her emails were generally sweet but standard. Check-ins with her mother where they’d talk about her mother’s new boyfriend, David.
Jenny seemed to like David, and I got the distinct impression this wasn’t usually the case with her mother’s partners.