| Continued from part two, this is part three of five.
Our business was growing, (despite my resident distraction) so we, the powers that be, had decided to bring in a junior partner. DML was actually a rather loose amalgam of eight independent bankers running a common fund. We had a front office with receptionist/switchboard operator, but we were all situated in our own offices scattered through a large complex. We had already chosen the bright young MBA at a round-house interview with the whole group of us, but, as a final ordeal, we decided to each give him a personal interview.
I had arranged a time without informing Penelope, so just before he was due to arrive, I summoned her to my desk, unzipping my pants and indicating my semi-turgid penis. She, of course, descended virtually lips-first into my lap, drawing me in like a vacuum cleaner. Ah, it was delicious, and I had to steel myself to keep from getting too excited too soon. Reaching under her arms, around her bobbing head, I snaked my hands into her blouse to cup her wonderfully firm boobs. As I started tweaking her nipples, she untucked my shirt and slid her hands up my chest to play at mine. It was marvelous – a little bit of ecstasy.
Right on time, young Jason McIntyre entered the office without knocking – just as I had instructed him. At the first sound of the door I had withdrawn my hands to hold them at Penelope's ears, and as the door opened it took only the slightest pressure from me to stop her pulling off. "Ah, Jason, my lad, there you are." I greeted him over my shoulder, then nodding to the leather chair before my desk, I added, "Have a seat, will you? I'll be with you in a sec. Ms. Lord is just a bit busy right now," I dropped my eyes as Penelope redoubled her efforts, "but I'll introduce you in a few minutes." I winked at him as he sat staring, mouth agape, then I closed my eyes and put my head back.
Curling my fingers through her hair, around her ears, I left my hands at her head though I certainly didn't need to. As Penelope's lips and cheeks sucked insistently, and her tongue writhed up and down and around my throbbing rod, I let myself float away again. Sometimes I felt like I could stay that way forever – a beautiful, partially dressed, young blonde on her knees, expertly sucking my cock. Her enthusiasm, her puffing and whimpering, her warm, wet mouth, gripping firmly yet tenderly, and the knowledge that she would do whatever I wanted, combined to make me delirious with pleasure. The colours behind my eyes swirled and changed, as current sparkled out from my loins, up and down my spine.
Somewhere, off in a dim corner of my mind, I realized that, what with our awestruck visitor, I was trying, once again, somehow, to reconfirm dominance. Despite our fabulous working relationship (or maybe that, too was part of the equation) I realized that her submission was, by then, virtually complete. Although there were none of the accoutrements normally attributed to serious fetishism – no cuffs or belts or leashes, no wall fastenings, no leather, no whips and chains – our relationship was very much master and slave. While at the office Penelope was completely indentured – at my disposal – easily as much as if she had been chained in place. In fact our interaction, especially my domination over her, was even more undiluted because there was no force being used. Penelope's was true, unadulterated submission.
"It's a good thing," I mused, forgetting, for the moment, Jason – just relishing the sensations that rolled over me and through me – "that I am not mean or sadistic." Sometimes, mind you, images of BDSM did flit through my mind and I wondered – wondered; but instead of being erotic, pictures of bondage and sadism invariably left me feeling queasy, uneasy – titillated, but almost frightened. While I admit to a morbid curiosity, I never have liked the idea of real sadism – I'm averse real pain. I guess I'm still a bit of a wimp. Anyway, what I have seems almost too perfect; so why spoil it?
I could feel my orgasm approaching – a tumultuous roaring of flame and sensation, erupting from the depths. Penelope could feel it do, for she forced herself farther down, deeper onto my pulsing staff, locking her lips into my pubic hair, and my helmeted head into her throat. Her mouth molded about me like a warm glove as my hips began to jerk and I gasped, fingers tangling her hair, jetting stream upon stream straight down into her belly.
Slowly I opened my eyes. Jason was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to look somewhere else, while Penelope cleaned me up, audibly laving my deflating cock, before tucking me in and zipping me up. Our guest was fidgeting uneasily in his seat, so I whispered into my lap, "I think Mr. McIntyre could really use your expert attention, Ms. Lord. Give him like you've just given me, eh?"
She looked up at me, her eyes betraying almost nothing. "Okay," she nodded, and rose from between my legs with an astounding grace, smoothing her skirt, before calmly rounding the desk and sinking to her knees, once more.
Jason's mouth opened and closed a few times as he gripped the arms of the chair, his wide eyes staring into his lap. I waited until I could see the top of her head beginning to bob in his lap. He let out a gasp, and I began the interview. He could hardly speak – he could hardly think! By the way his breath started to come in short, sharp blasts, I figured he wasn't going to take long. Asking him the odd probing or abstract question, I did my best to prolong his pleasure, but even my interference couldn't postpone his climax for long. I concluded the faux interview and turned back to computer screen. Across the desk Penelope's head accelerated frenetically as Jason began to howl; his orgasm, sounding very intense, left him sweating and breathless.
I pretended to ignore them, although from the corner of my eye I could see Penelope pull back and fiddle at his crotch, obviously tucking him back in. As she rose quietly, she graced the bewildered young fellow with her million-dollar smile, then returned, with a regal poise, to her own desk. "See Brandon, at the head office, tomorrow," I instructed him as casually as I could, "He'll get you set up." Jason rose, and looked about, unsure of what to do next. I stood, extending my hand. "Welcome aboard."
"Thank you," he mumbled, giving Penelope a puzzled look. She remained focused on her screen. As I resumed my seat, he turned to the door, muttering, "'Bye," as he let it close behind him. It was all very matter-of-fact.
Still, I couldn't help but laugh, once he'd left. "Boy, oh, boy," I chortled, spinning around to face Penelope, "we've given him something to think about I'd guess. Did you see the look on his face?" She nodded but didn't seem to share my mirth. I watched her silently working for a bit, then I asked quietly, "That was all right, wasn't it?" I waited, but she didn't respond right away, so I added, "Are you bothered by that – by what we did – what I had you do?"
She turned slowly and fixed me with her eyes, but when she replied it was with a pleasant, if indifferent, lightness. "No. That's okay. It's all part of the job." Her face betrayed just a touch, perhaps, of benign mischief. As she turned back to her work, she subtly fluttered her eyelids, an alluring hint of a smile barely showing on her lips.
–– o ––
I had determined, at the beginning of our arrangement, that Penelope would remain on her birth control pills, still, in earlier times, when I was expecting her to service a client, I asked her if she wanted to use a condom. "Whatever Mr. Whomever wants," she would always reply. Now, I suppose successful businessmen, who live constantly at the mercy of financial markets, are inherently risk-takers. In any case, none of her partners, in those first – what? six, eight, ten – months, ever requested a rubber. In retrospect, I suppose I was – and continue to gamble with our lives – Penelope's and mine. It somehow seems so trivial though. Notwithstanding, as they were always declined, I – we – seemed to have misplaced our supply of prophylactics.
One afternoon I had an appointment with Jim or Jerry or something – Thomason – a young stud rep from one of my bigger clients. "I've heard some real stories about your secretary, eh?" he said to me soto voce as we sat at my desk. "They say 'Jackson's assistant's pretty hot.'" He winked at me and nodded his head toward Penelope who sat at her computer oblivious to us.
"Who're 'they'?" I asked, keeping my tone very neutral.
"Oh, you know, a few guys in the office, a few of our mutual contacts."
"Hearsay?" I suggested, turning back to the business at hand. I didn't quite like this guy. I wasn't sure what I would do though. His boss had been with Penelope on more than one occasion and I was sure he expected the same treatment for this young upstart. I couldn't afford to alienate that company, and he continued to eye her hungrily across the room.
I realized I had painted myself into a position, as much as Penelope; so I just bit the bullet. "Ms. Lord," I called over, with as little feeling as possible, "would you please look after Mr. Thomason, while I finish up here?" Penelope stood immediately and turned to us. "Thanks," I added, not waiting for her reply. The Thomason kid sprang out of his chair, and walked over to my waiting assistant. He was coiled like a spring, his features dripping lust almost visibly.
I turned my attention to our business, but couldn't help watching the tableau unfold at the couch. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, as Penelope unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands across his chest. "This is first-class." Laying kisses over and between his nipples, Penelope dropped her hands to his crotch and released his thickening member. "Nice," he sighed. "No wonder you've got a reputation." If he didn't notice it, I certainly detected Penelope stiffen and hesitate for a moment. The guy had no tact, and I didn't like the sour edge of condescension in his voice, still he expected 'service' and his was a big account, so what could we do?
Subtly applying a dollop of lubricant, Penelope was stroking his stiffening penis as she played, tongue and fingers, with his nipples. He was beginning to writhe in arousal, and despite my dislike for the man, I knew what he was feeling, and had to smile.
Penelope glided her lips down his chest and stopped at his flagpole. Poised to engulf him with her ever-so-sweet mouth, she licked her lips. Although she paused only a moment, even I was getting impatient – I could imagine how he felt. However, just as she was about to gobble him up, he put a hand under her forehead. "Hold on," he said, with not quite the same 'piss-and-vinegar' attitude he'd started out with, "I don't want to pick up someone else's indiscretion, as it were." I guess he decided he didn't want to risk STD infection, the paranoid little shit.
Although, in the cold light of reality, it was probably the sensible suggestion I took a niggling offense at his attitude. Nevertheless, I spoke civilly; "I can probably find you a condom."
"Nah," he replied, sitting up and pushing Penelope back onto the couch, "I never liked condoms. Too tight, too uncomfortable." He paused, looking down at her. She waited passively. His hands fell to her breasts, molding them through the fabric of her blouse. Then he started to fiddle with the buttons, exposing her exquisite boobs. "How 'bout a tit-fuck?"
Peeling back his open trousers, Thomason straddled Penelope's chest, knees in her armpits, and flopped his cock into her cleavage. "Grip me," he commanded, with a slightly distasteful arrogance. She brought her hands up to the sides of her breasts and pushed them together around his motionless snake. Rocking on his hips, he began to saw back and forth within the warm, spongy tunnel she formed, and quickly his focus turned right back into himself. Eyes closed, head back, mouth agape, his movements increased dramatically in urgency, his hips ramming her hands then pulling back until only his engorged glans remained encased. I could see Penelope grimace at every out-stroke – every time his ass met his heels and his weight fell full on her stomach.
Frantically he wheezed and puffed, picking up his pace even more. His cock had grown to impressive proportions, and Penelope reached forward with her tongue to meet his in-strokes, wetting the fleeting tip with her tongue to add a little needed lubrication. Thomason was whining and moaning, smashing himself against her boobs with such force that eventually she could take the whole tip into her mouth before he violently pulled back. The wild rhythm continued, punctuated with grunts and gasps, though it was much more calisthenics than dance, until, with a rather primal scream, Thomason stiffened and let loose several good jets of thick white jism. Penelope leaned forward to catch the first spurts with her mouth but he pushed her away so that his subsequent shots landed in strings on her face and hair. He growled, "Grip me!" when Penelope relaxed her firm grip, and fell forward onto one arm, still throbbing and gushing. He must have pumped eight or ten salvos before he finally sat up.
A smile settled on Thomason's lips as he looked down at Penelope; but he was not really smiling at her, more at her state – under him, his come dripping into her eyes. With not a word, he reached down and wiped his member with the front of her blouse, before stepping off her and zipping his pants without another glance at her. He had dismissed her completely. I stared at him in amazement. Even given the unorthodox, unusual situation, I thought to myself, you can't treat people like that. The self-satisfied grin on his face made him look even more an asshole than I had him pegged for. And his little power trip seemed rather pathetic – ugly, but pathetic.
"Here," I said, thrusting the paperwork at him, "it's done."
"Yeah," he replied, tucking in his shirt, "That was okay." He put the proffered sheaf into his attaché. "Next time, we'll have to try something a little more adventuresome. I'm sure I could teach her a thing or two." He tipped his head back toward the couch.
I couldn't believe this twit. "Next time, on the very slim chance there is a next time, you better have acquired a little finesse and class, or you'll be lucky if you get a hand-job. We don't need your kind of attitude around here." I looked around him. "Do we, Ms. Lord?"
"I don't know what you mean," he answered from the door, and I believe he was genuinely puzzled.
"Good-bye, Mr. Thomason." When the door had closed, I turned to Penelope, who had removed her blouse and was wiping her face with it. "He won't get far treating people like that, I'm afraid."
Penelope disappeared into the washroom and emerged wearing another top. "I keep a spare here, just in case," she said, allowing a wry grin to grace her lips. She dismissed my apologies as unnecessary. "There'll always be uncouth pricks," she rationalized, and started back to her desk.
"Ah, Ms. Lord," I called. If she accepted that treatment as just part of the job, then I wouldn't make a big deal of it. "I suppose we'll need to add that to your bonus schedule." I called the file up on my screen. "Let's see, it was not quite a blowjob but definitely more than a hand-job. Hmmmm. How about two hundred?" I looked up at her and she subtly nodded her response. "Okay, then," I said, keying it into the schedule, "Tit-fuck: two hundred dollars." I also added it to her account as she returned to her desk.
–– o ––
When Penelope had been with me eight or nine months, she was having sex-at-the-office probably nine days out of ten –with me, my clients and/or my partners. Although she still seemed rather indifferent to much of it, there was something subtle about her responses, something about her acceptance of the roles, something about her abstruse welcoming of her trysts, and her diligence in their execution that made me suspect that these duties were, deep down, much more a delight than an abhorrence. Her passive, detached façade during the rendering of her services was, perhaps, just that, a façade – a convincing guise.
Notwithstanding, it was not just Penelope keeping up appearances. I still tried to keep up the illusion of nonchalance. My 'requests' for her services were usually given with a casual air of the mundane. "It's just sex. Big deal. A perk of the business, is all." And while it was usually sex – simple, down and dirty – sometimes it was more than that. When we were alone together, on a quiet afternoon after a busy week, there were times when what we had between us, just we two, became a very, very close approximation of something much deeper. A tenderness and grace insinuated itself into our passion, slowing us down, stretching out our peaks. At those times I often thought, "If this's not actually making love it's an exceedingly good facsimile." And I wondered about exactly what I was doing. "But, why," I'd invariably conclude, "question it?" so I'd just float along, accepting my good fortune.
As that first year progressed further, Penelope had become an invaluable asset to my office – a super-efficient assistant and a priceless business incentive. Still, our relationship – arrangement – had sort of fallen into a routine. I guess you get used to anything, even fabulous sex whenever you want it. We had found an equilibrium – there weren't really any highs and lows, at least nothing much remarkable any more. But even as it had become plain vanilla it was still premium ice cream, and the occasional chocolate ripple or raspberry swirl kept it from being monotonous – indeed, kept it marvelously delicious.
One time, we had in two clients, whose names I can't, for the life of me, remember, and while the actual business transaction was quick and mundane; the rest of the visit was anything but. It began when, as usual, I asked Penelope to make the guys comfy while I printed the document. "Just give me a moment to print this out. Ms. Lord will see to your every need, I trust." The visitors got the gist of my message immediately – who knows what stories they had heard – so, while Penelope went right down on the first chap – big, athletic, mid-twenties, –the second – the senior of the two – wasted no time in flipping up her skirt and entering her from behind. They pumped away vigorously, and although I was getting used to this kind of activity, their puffing and gasping – their cacophony of lewd and lascivious sounds was doing its thing to me, even as the last page was being printed.
The recipient of Penelope's oral ministrations started to howl as he grasped Penelope's ears and thrust himself deep into her throat. Holding her still for a moment allowed his partner, in his rhythm, to penetrate her into the very depths of her vagina. Grasping her thighs and holding them tight, he bellowed in a frenzied counterpoint to his colleague. To her credit, Penelope didn't stop. I could see her cheeks still pumping and sucking, her hips continuing to gyrate, mashing her buttocks back hard against her intruder. The two men came together in a roar, then withdrew in unison.
The one who had been behind flopped into her chair, panting but the other one held her in place – on all fours, on the couch, with a hand on her back while he switched ends. He pulled at her skirt, slipping it under her knees as she lifted them and tossing it aside, as, taking his cue, she likewise jettisoned her blouse. His erection, glistening with their combined juices, hardly even diminished in the open air of the office as he bobbed into position between Penelope's calves and, moving his hands to her wonderful ass-cheeks, lined himself up and entered her with a swift lunge. The earthy redolence filling the office was enough to cause my member to strain against my fly-front, so I unzipped and placed myself on my knees at the head of the couch. Penelope swallowed me so fast and completely, pulling me in with both hands, that sparks and stars crackled along my spine and behind my eyes.