Speaker 1: My heels had barely touched the carpet outside Miss Vance's
office before her voice lanced through the glass partition Cassidy
my office. Now, a cold trickle slid between my shoulder blades.
I'd only glanced at the client portfolio, just one peek
at the Stratton file, the one she kept locked in
the bottom drawer. All I wanted was to understand her system,
to anticipate what she needed before she asked, to finally
hear her say something that wasn't a sigh or a complaint.
The door swung open before I could knock. Miss Vance
stood framed by the city skyline, her silhouette a study
in curves that my modest shirtwaist dress couldn't compete with
that auburn hair coiled into a tight shignon a shade
deeper than the mahogany desk. She was about to destroy
me over I was only trying to I started. Her
hand shot up. Save it. You were in confidential records,
records that could get both of us fired and sued
into a different tax bracket. Her emerald eyes narrowed, scanning
my face like a balance sheet she was about to
mark with red ink. Explain my throat tightened. The words
came out thin, almost a whine, which I hated. I
just wanted to do better. I study your reports every night.
I memorize your coffee order, your calendar, the way you
sort your inbox. I thought if I could see how
you built the Stratin account from scratch, I could. I
don't know. Surprise you show you I'm not some blonde
intern you regret hiring. My gaze dropped to her pointed heels.
I just want to please you. Silence stretched. The vent hummed.
Somewhere down the hallway, A phone rang twice before cutting off.
Miss Vance took one step closer, and my pulse jumped.
You want to please me. Her tongue toyed with the word,
stretching the vowel until it sounded obscene. You want to
make me happy, I nodded. My ponytail bobbed against my neck.
She walked to her leather chair, fingertips tracing the arm rest.
Didn't sit. Instead, she rounded the desk, each step deliberate,
the wool skirt hugging hips that filled every inch of
the fabric. She stopped inches from me. Her perfume hit
sandalwood in something darker, like a secret. If you want
to get ahead, she murmured, her gaze holding mine, you
better give a little head. My lips parted, but no
sound came. The words re arranged themselves in my brain
three times before they locked into meaning. By then, her
hands had already found the hem of her pencil skirt.
The charcoal fabric rustled upward, sliding over pantyhose that stopped
at mid thigh, and then nothing. Pale, freckled skin, the
dark copper thatch of hair glistening in the fluorescent light.
She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Miss Vance hoisted the skirt higher,
planting one heel on the edge of the desk drawer.
The pose split her open, fat, glistening lips, framed by
a wiry tangle that curled inward like a beckoning finger.
The scent of her salt and heat, and a faint
soapy note filled the space between us. Eat it, two syllables,
no room for negotiation. My knees felt disconnected from the
rest of me. I stared at the pink folds, the
way they clung together, the single clear bead of moisture
that slipped free and traced a path toward the inside
of her thigh. Time stalled. Miss Vance's nostrils flared. She
shifted her weight and both hands clamped onto the desk edge,
lifting one leg higher than the other until she was
a breath taking obscenity. Ankles hooked wide, skirt bunched around
her waist, everything exposed. She reached back two fingers, spreading
her cheeks so the dimpled rim of her asshole puckered
against the office air. If you want to keep your job,
she said, voice a low current beneath the words, eat
my fat ass out right now a swallow. I bit
my bottom lip hard enough to taste lipstick. Now my
body moved before my mind caught up. The carpet met
my knees with a blunt thud. I lunged forward, nose
brushing the crease where her thigh became her sex. And
then my tongue was flat against that dark, musky ring, salty,
earthy sweat that had gathered through a morning of meetings
and aggressive emails dissolved on my taste buds. I pressed deeper,
and her flesh gave way, softening, letting me inside the sound.
She made a half laugh, half hiss, vibrated through her pelvis.
My tongue traced a slow, deliberate path downward, gathering the
tang of her cunt. The hair scratched my upper lip.
I found the hood of her clit by the way
she flinched, a tiny seismic jolt that rolled from her
core to the hand, Suddenly fisting my ponytail. I sucked
gentle at first, then harder, the way I'd want it
done to me. That's it, she breathed, Her grip tightened,
directing my mouth like an instrument she'd been tuning for years.
Above me, I heard the wet pop of a finger
slipping into her mouth. Then the desk creaked slightly as
she leaned back. I glanced up just in time to
see her middle finger disappear inside her own asshole, knuckle
by knuckle. The sight punched a moan out of me
that vibrated against her clit. When she withdrew the finger slowly,
with a glistening shine, she lowered it to my lips open.
I did the taste of her ass coated my tongue
mixed now with the musk already there, I sucked her
finger clean, hollowing my cheeks holding her gaze. Her emerald
old eyes had gone dark, pupils swallowing the green good girl.
Miss Vance grabbed a fistful of papers, folders, a stapler
and swept them off the desk in one violent arc.
They clattered to the floor like applause. Then her hands
found my shoulders and I was airborne for a dizzy
second before my back hit the cold wooden surface. The
edge bit into the undersides of my thighs. She wrenched
my sensible cotton panties down, the elastic snapping against one ankle,
and hitched my skirt up past my navel, no preamble,
no warning. Her mouth descended on my cunt with the
same authority she used in board meetings. Her tongue was
broad and relentless. It parted me, mapped me, flicked against
my clit in patterns that short circuited my ability to
form words. I squealed, an undignified, high pitched sound that
echoed off the glass walls. She didn't stop. Her hands
hooked under my knees, pushing them toward my chest, exposing
the tight button of my asshole to the cool air.
The next stroke of her tongue went lower, circle, circle press.
I saw stars. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She
surfaced just long enough to murmur against my wet skin,
not God, just your boss. Then her mouth was back
on my cunt, and her thumb was tracing my ass,
and I forgot how to breathe. A pressure built low
in my belly, sharp and immediate, no slow climb, just
a freight train of sensation that collided with my spine
and unspooled every thought I'd ever had about professionalism. When
she finally pulled away, my thighs were a strand of
shiny saliva connected her lower lip to my clit before
it broke. She straightened, chest heaving beneath the silk blouse,
and I did the only thing that made sense. I
sat up, grabbed the back of her neck, and kissed
her hard. My tongue dove into her mouth and found
my own taste there layered over hers, an exchange so
intimate I almost came again, just from the flavor. She
bit my bottom lip, not gently. I gasped into her
throat and sucked the skin over her pulse point until
a bruise pearled beneath my lips. Clothes became irrelevant. Her
blouse opened, my dress peeled away. Her breasts were heavy
nipples the color of aged wine, and I latched onto
one while her fingers twisted the other. We staggered back
onto the desk, a tangle of limbs, mouths, never quite separating.
She crawled over me, and then we were shifting, rotating
a desperate geometry, until sixty nine became the only logical conclusion.
Her cunt hovered above my mouth, mine beneath hers. I
grabbed the globes of her ass, god the weight of her,
and pulled her down onto my tongue. Simultaneously, her mouth
locked onto my clit, and two fingers slipped inside me, crooked,
finding some hidden shoreline I'd never discovered on my own.
We ate each other with no rhythm, no grace, just hunger.
The wet sounds filled the office like a second heartbeat.
Her thighs clamped around my ears, muffling the world, until
the only thing that existed was the taste of her
flooding my tongue and the relentless sucking on my swollen clit.
I shoved two fingers inside her and felt her walls flutter,
gripping me. A pulsing morse code that signaled the end.
Her orgasm broke first, a guttural cry swallowed by my flesh,
her hips grinding down so hard I nearly lost breath.
The sight of it, the feel of her coming apart
against my face, shoved me over the edge right behind her.
My back arched off the desk, A silent scream locked
in my throat. Everything white, hot, and contracting. We collapsed
into a sweaty, breathing heap. Minutes passed, maybe more. The
ceiling tiles blurred above me. Impressive, Miss Vance said finally,
her voice hoarse. I turned my head toward her. She
was propped on one elbow, a sheen of perspiration glazing
the freckled slope of her chest. A strand of auburn
hair had escaped the sheen and curled against her cheek.
I've been looking for my new personal pe, she said.
I frowned, still panting. You mean pa. Her lips curved slow, predatory.
No pe, my own personal pussy eater. The job title
hung in the air between us, and before I could respond,
she leaned close, hot breath grazing my ear. Report to
my office tomorrow at seven a m. Sharp. Don't bother
with underwear. Her fingernail traced a lazy circle around my nipple.
Consider this your probationary period. My heart slammed once twice
against my ribs, and somewhere in the back of my mind,
I heard myself think, now that's a job I can
get my teeth into. I hoped you enjoyed today's sexy story.
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