by D. L. Savage
So with a final frustrated little sigh, I switched off my bedside light and turned onto my side and with aching balls I tried my hardest to go to sleep.
I spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to sleep, just waiting for Tuesday morning to come. And by the time it finally rolled around, I’d worked myself up into such a total nervous wreck, I was practically trembling as I made my way up in that elevator once again to Miss Cartwright’s office on the seventeenth floor. But that morning, I’d made extra sure not to be late – not even by a single second.
Once again, I stepped out into the plushly-carpeted corridor, shooting a quick smile at the cute blonde girl on reception, before I headed for the office at the far end, reaching out and knocking a little hesitantly.
“Come in,” came the familiar cold voice; the stern English accent that made my heart race.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside, feeling this weird mix of embarrassment and pure lust as I set eyes on Miss Cartwright for a second time, as I remembered with a cringe the way I’d masturbated to the memory of her ass. I just hoped to God it didn’t show on my face.
“Ah, Peter,” she said with a slight smile, “I see you’re actually on time this morning.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I stammered, only realizing with a flash of panic what I’d said after the word had already escaped my lips. I quickly scanned her face, waiting for her expression to register just what I’d called her, but she didn’t even bat an eyelid.
“I suppose first of all, we should have a little talk about what I expect from you as my Personal Assistant,” she continued.
“Yes, um, Mistress,” I replied, figuring it would be weird not to continue saying it, now that I’d started.
“Now, this is going to be quite a varied and exacting role, Peter, so I hope you weren’t lying in your interview when you said you liked applying yourself to a whole range of different tasks/” At this, she raised one carefully plucked eyebrow and fixed me in such a cruel stare, I felt every atom in my body submitting to her, just wanting to please her.
“Yes, yes, that’s very true, Mistress,” I said quickly, hearing the nerves jangling in my voice as I spoke.
But the truth of it was, I had no idea what I’d said in my interview. I couldn’t remember a word of it. But in that moment, I swore to myself I’d do anything I could to please Miss Cartwright – anything at all.
“Good,” she smiled. “I’m glad we’re both on the same page.”
For a brief half-second, my eyes flitted down, from her beautiful, perfectly made up face to her crisp white blouse, which showed off her small but pert breasts. And could I just about make out the faint points of her nipples, as if they were straining at the fabric? At the sight of them, I felt a sharp twinge of arousal, as my cock began swelling with blood, but I quickly pulled my eyes up to hers again, hoping she hadn’t noticed the direction of my gaze, and I crossed my legs again in a pathetic attempt to hide the brand new bulge in my trousers.
“Now you should be aware, Peter, that a lot of the things I’ll be expecting you to do as my assistant are rather ... how shall I put it? Menial. Are you okay with that?”
Again, she shot me with a stern look and I answered quickly, utterly desperate to please her now: “Yes, Mistress.”
It’s so strange. I can totally see now, as I’m writing this in the clear light of day, just how weird and unusual that exchange was between us. But let me tell you, at the time, it seemed perfectly natural. It was as if, in those brief moments, the boundaries of our relationship had been set out so clearly and completely. Miss Cartwright was in charge – she was my Mistress – and I was nothing more than her pathetic little assistant, there to do the most menial things for her. And again, to my surprise, I found that the idea actually turned me on like crazy!
“Is something the matter, Peter?” she said, raising an eyebrow as her eyes flitted towards my crotch, a cruel smile flickering on her lips. “You look rather flustered.”
I could feel my cheeks burning with shame; I was obviously blushing hard. But even so, I tried my very best to remain calm, shaking my head and forcing a smile onto my face, as I replied, “No, Mistress. I’m fine, Mistress.”
“Good, well in that case, if you’ll follow me I’ll give you a tour of the office, then you can get started on a few errands I’d like you to run for me.”
“Great,” I stammered, still trying to keep composed, as she eased herself out of her chair, her gorgeous body once again shown off by her perfectly tailored pant suit, which clung to the perfect curves of her hips and ass as she led the way out of her office and down the corridor. As we passed the reception desk, the cute blonde girl gave me a smile, but I hardly had time to smile back before we were striding into a large busy room full of smartly dressed men and women in suits, all typing away at computers and talking on telephones.
I could tell a few of them were looking at me, and I even caught a couple of macho-looking guys sniggering and whispering to each other while obviously gesturing towards me, as if they were saying, Poor guy, I bet he won’t last long!
“This is the main hub of operations, Peter,” Miss Cartwright said, “but you’ll hardly spending any time in here to be honest. So, are you ready for your first assignment?”
I nodded.
“In that case, come back to my office and I’ll tell you all about it ...”
“Here,” Miss Cartwright said, thrusting a set of car keys towards me.
For a moment I panicked. After all, I didn’t have a license and had no clue in the world how to operate a car.
“There are two bags in the trunk,” she continued, as I inwardly sighed with relief, glad I wouldn’t have to admit I couldn’t drive. “I’m having my apartment renovated, Peter, and haven’t been able to use my washing machine for a while. So I’d like you to take my dirty washing to the nearest launderette. And when you’re done, be back here with a large Americano with cream. Got that?”
“Um sure,” I said, taking the key from her outstretched hand. “Which car is yours?”
At this Miss Cartwright just sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’ll know it when you see it,” she said dismissively, waving a hand at me, as if wanting me to get out of her damn office as quickly as I could.
A few minutes later, I found myself standing in the underground parking lot, and sure enough – even before I’d matched the logo on the key fob to the make of car – I knew immediately which car was Miss Cartwright’s. It was a gleaming black Porsche sports car, just as sleek and sporty as her.
I pressed the unlock button on the key fob, then popped open the trunk, and just as she’d said, there were two smart leather hold-all bags inside. I lifted them out of the car, locked it again, then headed out of the parking lot to ground level, unsure where the nearest launderette might be.
I was still puzzling this when I stepped out onto the sidewalk, but all of a sudden, I remembered I could look it up on my cell phone. I never normally hung out in this part of the city – the fancy business district – but a quick Google search told me that actually, there was a launderette pretty nearby.
As I walked the few blocks, I felt glad to be out and about in the city. It was a sunny day, and here I was in my brand new job – finally earning some money. Okay, so sure, it wasn’t exactly the most prestigious role I could think of. I was taking my boss’s dirty laundry to be washed, after all. But still, there were a lot worse things I could think of doing with my time.
Pretty soon I’d reached the launderette and with a sigh of relief found I had enough money in my wallet to cover a couple of washes and spins in the dryer, plus a coffee from somewhere. So I strode confidently over to the row of machines and started to open up the bags to sort the washing into piles. Luckily, I’d got quite good at doing washing after living at Alex’s place for a while as he didn’t have a working machine either.
The first bag contained a lot of blouses and t-shirts, some work wear and also some more casual things – p
airs of leggings and vests – and I tried to ignore the delicious perfume-like scents that came off the clothes as I lifted them from the bag and pushed them into the drum of the machine. After all, it wasn’t professional to think about my boss that way anymore, right?
But I have to admit, it took a lot of willpower not to just stuff my face into one of those sexy white blouses and sniff hard, knowing how close that crisp white fabric had been to Mistress Cartwright’s perfect breasts with their hard little nipples.
Once the first bag was empty, I started to unzip the second bag and reach inside. But something made me pause when my hand touched the silky wisps of fabric. My heart started to drum as I realized just what this bag contained. As I scanned around the launderette to check that I was alone – luckily the place was completely deserted – my hand rummaged around inside the bag, my fingers brushing against soft scraps of fabric that just had to be underwear ...
Finally, with trembling fingers I lifted out the first piece of material to examine it. Oh my god. It was the tiniest black g-string I’d ever seen. I just stared at it in disbelief, knowing that this sexy wisp of fabric had actually been right between Mistress Cartwright’s gorgeous butt cheeks.
Although I wanted to do nothing more than to lift it to my face and sniff, I forced myself to throw it into the washing machine and reach into the bag for the next item. This time it was a white cotton thong. I felt another shiver of excitement. And again, I forced myself to throw it into the machine.
And that’s how I spent the next few minutes – fighting back the urges I had to sniff Mistress Cartwright’s underwear (or even steal it) – but making sure to examine each little scrap of fabric, getting more and more turned on to see her sexy private panties. I turned out that all she wore were thongs and g-strings, and there was something hot about knowing just what kind of underwear Mistress Cartwright was wearing beneath those figure-hugging black suits of hers.
By the time I’d finally set the machine spinning, I’d worked myself up into such a state I found myself looking around the launderette for a bathroom, some place where I could sneak off and quickly masturbate to clear my head of all these horny thoughts. But of course there wasn’t a bathroom, so instead I just tried to push the image of Mistress Cartwright’s gorgeous ass in nothing but a g-string out of my mind, figuring I’d better go and pick up her coffee while her laundry was washing.
What was it she wanted again?
In a panic, I realized I’d forgotten her order. Had it been a cappuccino? Or maybe she’d said espresso? I raced out of the launderette and scanned up and down the street, catching sight of the familiar sign of a coffee shop. Dashing towards it, I hoped that when I set eyes on the menu board, I would remember what kind of coffee she’d asked for.
I stepped inside and glanced up at the board and sure enough, when I saw the word Americano I felt a flash of recognition. That’s what she’d asked for! A large Americano! I could hear her sexy voice speaking the words in my head, and I repeated them proudly to the girl at the counter, handing over the last of my money while she fixed the drink.
Mistress Cartwright will be so proud of me, I thought with a smile.
“What the hell is this?” Mistress Cartwright said, just a short while later, spitting the sip she’d taken from her coffee back into the cup.
I was sure I’d got her order right. But the look on her face told a very different story.
“It’s, uh, it’s an Americano, Mistress,” I offered timidly.
“I can see that, you pathetic worm,” she hissed back, “but what I asked for was an Americano with cream.”
I felt my heart sink a little. Of course. How stupid of me.
“No, this just won’t do,” she growled, setting the coffee down on the desk in front of her.
“I’m really sorry,” I said, hearing my own voice trembling a little as I spoke. And I meant it. I was sorry. I could feel her distain for me, her hatred blazing from every pore of her as she spoke to me.
“Sorry isn’t good enough, Peter,” she spat back. “I asked for cream and you’re going to give me cream, right now.”
She shot me an expectant look, and I stared back at her totally puzzled, totally dumbstruck. What did she mean?
I just stood there, paralyzed with fear, not wanting to ask her to clarify her statement, knowing that would only make her dislike me more, but at the same time knowing I had to. Because I really didn’t know what she meant.
“I’m, uh, sorry Mistress,” I stammered, “but I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you mean.”
“Jesus Christ,” she hissed in that cold English accent, rolling her dark eyes like I’d just said the most stupid thing in the world. “Do you really want me to fucking spell it out to you?”
“I’m afraid so, Mistress,” I said quietly, my face burning with shame and embarrassment.
“Very well, Peter, you pathetic little worm,” she continued. “I asked for coffee and cream, and as there is no cream in my coffee, what I expect you to do is take out your puny little dick and squirt some cream into my coffee. Can I be any fucking clearer than that? Now come on, get to it. I haven’t got all bloody day.”
I stared at her in total shock and surprise. Had she really just said that?
I almost couldn’t believe it.
But the way she was looking at me, her glossy lips pursed in an expectant scowl, I knew she had. Her words still echoed around my head: What I expect you to do is take out your puny little dick and squirt some cream into my coffee.
I took a deep breath, my whole body shaking with expectation now. And then, with trembling hands I reached down and began to unbuckle my belt, feeling Mistress Cartwright’s cold black eyes boring into me, focussed now on my crotch.
Next I unzipped my suit pants. And then, finally I pushed down my boxer shorts, revealing my pathetic little cock which – despite my terror – was rock hard. All five puny inches of it.
I shot a quick glance at Mistress Cartwright, realizing that her lips had curled into a cruel smile now. She even let out a little laugh beneath her breath, obviously finding my tiny cock totally hilarious.
I paused, still totally unable to believe this was happening, my heart pounding in my chest. And as I stood there, fixed to the spot, I watched as Mistress Cartwright pulled off the lid of her coffee with those long slender fingers of hers, then slid the cup across the desk until it was in line with my dick.
“Go on, Peter,” she taunted. “What’s the matter? Have you got stage fright?”
I gulped, swallowing back my nerves. And then I reached down and began to stroke my cock, feeling the sharp flashes of pleasure rushing around my body despite – or maybe even enhanced by – my total embarrassment and humiliation. I could feel Mistress Cartwright’s cold gaze fixed on my dick as I jacked myself off, standing there before her, the steaming coffee on the desk in front of me, and to my surprise, I could already feel my orgasm fast approaching.
A second later, it hit, causing me to grunt and tense up, hunching forward as I squirted my load in the direction of the coffee cup. But damn – I guess my blue balls over the last few days played a part in it – because I squirted out way more come than normal, six powerful thick white squirts of it, most of which I managed to aim into her coffee, but some of which missed and streaked across the polished brown wood of her desk.
“There you go,” she said in a teasing, sing-song voice. “Now that wasn’t so hard after all, was it?”
“N-no, Mistress,” I stammered, my voice still trembling, my whole body tingling, my face burning hot with shame at what I’d just done in front of her. “Will that be all?” I added, as I quickly fumbled my now-soft cock back into my boxer shorts and zipped up my suit pants again.
“Almost,” she replied, picking up her coffee and taking a long slow sip.
I watched in disbelief as her mouth curled into a satisfied smile. “There, now that’s much better,” she grinned. “Coffee with cream, just like I asked. But Peter?”
“Yes, Mistress?” I said, wondering what else she could want of me now.
“You have left rather a mess on my desk, haven’t you?”
At this she nodded down at her desk, which sure enough had three big white streaks of my cum across its wooden surface.
“Sorry, Mistress,” I began, about to offer to go and grab some towels from the washroom to wipe it up. But before I could say anything else, she lifted up her hand to stop me.
“Lick it up,” she said coldly.
My eyes widened and my heart started to pound again. A part of me wanted to say no, to tell her this was going too far – had already gone too far. She was obviously just enjoying being cruel to me, asking me to do any damn thing she wanted. And I knew I should stop it, stop it right now, tell her to go to hell. But at the same time – despite how disgusting what she was asking me to do was – I have to admit, another part of me was actually enjoying her cruelty to me, as totally weird and fucked up as that sounds. Because despite finding the idea of licking up my own cum totally gross, at the same time I could feel myself getting hard again too, which was totally crazy.
“I said, lick it up,” she growled.
I knew that in that moment I had only two choices. Either tell her to go to hell – and of course lose my job – or do just as she said.
I took a deep breath, then made my decision ...
“Leaving early?” the cute blonde girl on reception said a couple of moments later, as I hurried past her, my face burning with shame.
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I grunted, not wanting to stop and talk.
“I’m Becky, by the way,” she said, forcing me to stop and turn back to face her.
“Hi, I’m Peter,” I replied shyly.
“Don’t worry about Miss Cartwright,” she said lowering her voice and nodding in the direction of her office, the place I’d come rushing out from just now. “She can be kinda weird sometimes,” she added with a wink.