Kay and Sir Ch. 01

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This is the first story I ever wrote. I wrote it for a friend of mine who has a fantasy about married men.

*

Alone he sits at his desk. It’s late…

Even for him — it is late…

11:23PM…

He sits on a conference call with the states, the pressures of the last couple of weeks etched across his face, as you wordlessly slip into his office. Tie loosened, top button undone, hair looking a little unkempt — he’s not looking his best, although he certainly doesn’t look bad for a man his age, at least not one who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. This deal means a lot — if the London office gets it — the whispers in the breakout room will no longer be of redundancies and cutbacks. Whoever thought teenaged girls are the worst gossips in the world, has clearly never worked in a financial services company.

Sheets of printout are sprawled out on the desk in front of him as American voices yammer on interminably over the speaker phone. He slowly massages his neck, barely glancing up as you walk in… at least initially. But then, there’s that second look, almost imperceptible if you weren’t looking for it — but you are… and it’s there. He has noticed the outfit…

It is of course very inappropriate for the office… The boots might just be acceptable but not with that small tartan skirt, it’s hemline being dangerous enough to make sitting in a lady-like manner a real challenge. If you had to pick, it’s probably the most inappropriate item on the outfit for work, although — the curve hugging black top might be pushing it close — it really depends how visible your nipples are. They weren’t a second ago but then — that was before Sir noticed.

It’s not your fault of course — you aren’t dressed for work — you were supposed to go out with friends. Yet another last minute conference call meaning he has to stay — and if he stays, you stay. You made all the right noises to the girls of course — this job is a drag, ‘you’d better get one hell of a Christmas bonus!’ — you’re careful to hide the truth. The girls are great of course but the thought of another night in a loud bar followed by a tedious club fills you with dread. Some idiot in a tight t-shirt with a dreary line in ‘banter’ trying his best to make you the next thing he attempts to hump like a rutting dog — is there anything less appetising? And why are these guys always so obsessed with where they shoot their mighty loads? Is somebody somewhere giving out prizes? You’d take your little bullet over them any day — at least you know where to put it and there’s less chance of temporary blindness!

Of course, there’s the deeper secret — the one you try to hide even from yourself — the real reason you’re here — it’s him, Sir. You’ve gone over it in your mind countless times — is it because he is older? Powerful? Unavailable? What is the hold he exerts over your deepest darkest desires? When you’re alone, in bed — with the aforementioned bullet teasing against your clit — why is it him you think of? His strong hands holding your hips… His mouth urgently biting your firm pert nipples… His cock sliding into… God, admit it — anywhere it damn well pleases.

It’s not like you’re short of options either — a quick saunter through accounts in this outfit tomorrow morning would be all you’d need to prove that. As it is, even dressed demurely on a typical day, there is a subtle but noticeable shift in the air as you pass by the desks — as heads turn. You’re a woman at her peak – as a quick check in the bathroom mirror before entering Sir’s office attested. Regular trips to the gym have kept your petite 25 year old body in trim — your natural curves still very much in evidence. You’ve never been vain but even you have to admit, not too shabby!

Of all that attention though — maddeningly little comes from the one man you want it from — hell, crave it from. Sure, there’ve been the occasional accidental brush against each other when moving around the desk, hugs at appropriate times of an only-ever-so-slightly inappropriate length — that shared Taxi back from Marci’s leaving do — when you thought he just might — might, do something more. But no — he is professional, and married… and your boss. A good one too — one who knows you’re better than the job you have and too good to be there. Soon you’ll be gone — he’s made no bones about it. He has pushed you for promotion, he views you as a valuable resource to the company…

That second look izmir escort bayan as you walked in though — that was nothing to do with being a valuable resource. There was that flash — that briefest hint of animal desire — you can feel a slight blush in your cheeks and a tingle elsewhere. It’ll be in your mind’s eye when later tonight you crawl into bed and amidst the exhaustion, your fingers go for a wander — purely in the interest of a good night’s sleep…

You put these thoughts from your head as you walk across the thick carpeted floor — his fourth cup of coffee in one hand and the LDR figures in the other. He looks up and you smile, indicating the file — he sighs with a resigned grin and points at a pile on the far side of the desk. There’s obviously some very complicated system to what look like random piles of paper but it’d take a degree in advanced mathematics to figure it out.

You lean across to add it to the indicated pile… you daren’t look but you can feel your cheeks redden, is he using this opportunity to sneak a look? To check out your body as it stretches across him? Please don’t let him notice your nipples… or maybe he should…

To avoid glancing back at him or worse his crotch, you look around for something to focus on — and find the picture of his wife sitting on the desk — that same smug grin she always has. God you hate that perma-grin — the kind people beam at you as you talk, while constantly looking over your shoulder for someone more important to talk to. What had he been thinking… You wish the stupid bitch could see her husband right now — as his eyes linger on your body as you lean over him. Perhaps when you stand back up, you’ll give him that certain smile… a more lingering look… maybe… maybe this time, you’ll finally cast off your reserved nature… maybe…

But…

You never get that far… maybe it’s the tiredness, maybe it’s her self-satisfied smile or maybe the thought of his eyes upon you… but… oh fuck… the coffee slips from your hands and crashes down to the desk… the contents of the cup drenching the papers so perfectly you couldn’t have aimed it better. Every last drop soaks into something important — not least the significant portion of the scalding hot coffee that ended up in his lap…

Before an apology can slip from your lips he’s lurched back in his chair… desperately patting at his scalded area. The look of horror though is reserved for when he surveys the devastation you’re wrought on his carefully laid out paperwork — a mountain of preparation wiped out by your tsunami of clumsiness.

You desperately attempt to mop up the mess with the sleeve of your top — a useless act against the deluge. You go to speak but he puts his fingers to his lips — indicating the open phone with the other.

“Everything OK over there?”

“Sure” he raises his voice to calmly intone, belying the panicked look in his eyes. Quickly he pulls some tissues from his drawer and you both wordlessly set about rescuing what little can be saved, to the background drone of the Americans yammering on and on… maybe, maybe it’ll be alright…

Clearly you didn’t hear her the first time, Amanda from the Detroit office, as her voices cuts through, doing little to disguise her irritation.

“Have you got those figures Karl?”

He looks panicked.

“Sure… you mean the…”

“What’re we’re talking about – the LDV quarterlys”

“Yep, absolutely…”

You both look around in panic… picking up and discarding one semi-legible wad of sodden paper after another…

“Well?”

“Just a second, I…”

How can one desk seem so massive now, where can they be — you’ve looked everywhere!!!

“Forget it Karl, we’re all busy people. Nevermind, Phil can you…”

You look back over your shoulder, leaning over the desk before him as he slumps back in his chair. You see the frustration burning in his eyes. You want the ground to open up and swallow you — no words are enough… briefly you consider apologising directly over the speaker phone, perhaps if you took the blame? but no… that’d just make it worse.

Then, a look comes over him — he stands up and leans forward — brushing against your body now… his aroma, a mix of waning aftershave, sweat and coffee — surprisingly it is considerably more alluring than it sounds. There’s something manly about it, or at least something distinctly him. He is not himself though — there’s a cold escort izmir look in his normally warm eyes… you’re tense – wondering what is happening… and now — oh Lord, the ground opening up isn’t near enough — as, with an ice cold calm he points to the file in your left hand. There – pristine are those pesky LDV figures — in the panic you somehow managed not to look at what you were actually holding… Oh God!

“I’ve found the…” He hoarsely whispers into the phone

“we’ve moved on” comes Amanda’a curt response.

You can’t look at him — forget a bonus, the idea of being fired flashes across your mind. Oh well, you did want to travel and…

Then — it happens…

You’re so shocked that it takes you a second to realise the small yelp you hear just came from you…

His left hand has just very firmly, smacked your left ass cheek…

Time seems to slow to a crawl.

You look back, just to check you didn’t just dream this…

He stands there, totally still — looking down at his left hand as if noticing it for the first time — like it’s a foreign independent creature that has somehow attached itself to him. Your feelings of shock are mirrored in his face — his looks up and your eyes meet. In those dark green eyes you see a sea of emotions swirling around… fear, lust, horror… he can’t believe what he has just done.

You should think — think how to react, think of something to say, think what this could mean…

But before you can, instinct takes over. We all live under the illusion that our minds are in control but at the key moments in life, our bodies take over — primal needs trump logic every time.

Before a thought can be formed in your mind, your body makes a decision.

Your right hand reaches back and slowly…

Deliberately…

Teasingly…

Raises your skirt to reveal your pert little ass fully to him.

You push it up slightly — offering it up …

In this situation the power is all yours — even the power to let it all go.

The look in his eyes changes — all kinds of frustration bubbling away have now suddenly come to the surface — and resolved itself into something else.

And then time seems to speed back up.

His right hand grabs your long hair and pushes your head down onto the desk — even as his left hand connects again with your arse…

You yelp a little — but less — you know it was coming — you… wanted it…

And again… hard but not too hard. My God, what is happening to you. Your pussy is wet and getting wetter — you can feel your juices start to soak through the slutty little thong you’re wearing, start to drip down the inside of your leg. You have to hold your breath — for fear of moaning into the speakerphone that sits a mere 18 inches away from your face. The cool feel of the desk’s mahogany on your face offering a contrast to the sweet heat as his hand makes contact with your arse — again and again and…

You never knew you wanted this until moments ago and now you want nothing else…

“Is there a problem on the line?”

You both freeze.

“Yeah, we’re picking up some… interference on our end too” comes Phil from San Diego.

Sir’s voice is as cool as ice.

“Hmmm… no, everything is fine on this end. Phil do have next year’s turn-over projections until year’s end?”

That’s not the end that has his attention though…

Even as he speaks, the naughty little slut that you’ve now become is taking over.

You push yourself back into him, so your ass is rubbing against his crotch. You can feel his rock hard cock, straining against his suit trousers. Feeling how hard you’ve made him turns you on so much. You push against him even as he holds you down more firmly, resisting your urging. The feel of his strong hand pushing you down onto the desk just makes your pussy even more dripping wet. You are a total slave to your desires.

He pushes back against you — dry humping you. Dry is the wrong word — the front of his trousers must be soaking in your hot juices now.

He thrusts himself up against you again… and again… you wonder if you might be able to come just from the proximity of his cock. You want it so much, to be taken hard right now. You be treated like his sexual plaything.

You can feel his left hand as it roughly rubs against your sopping wet thong, covering his fingers in your juices.

Maddeningly — he pulls it away as you try izmir escort to gyrate yourself against it — any contact now would surely be enough to push you over the edge.

You can hear a soft sucking sound behind you — a smile plays across your face as you realise — he is sucking your juices off his fingers — tasting how wet his little slut is for him.

And then his fingers are back — you bite your lip desperately at the sweet sensation of his fingers deftly pushing your thong to one side and plunging into the sopping wet slit between your legs.

The hand holding your hair is removed and you hear a zipping sound — he is releasing his cock from its captivity.

You go to look around but again he roughly pushes you down onto the desk.

All you can see is the picture of his wife as she impassively watches on, even as her husband’s fingers slip in and out of your tight wet pussy.

You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring as it pushes roughly up against your cervix wall — curling around to expertly find that sweet spot.

Your body is overcome with pleasure — every inch of you giving into the most primal of your urges. In a desperate effort to stop from screaming, you take that sheet of LDV figures and shove it into your mouth — making use of the only thing at hand that gives you some hope of not roaring your pleasure down the line for all to hear.

Your legs begin to tremble as his fingers slide more and more forcefully in and out of you — forcefully pushing you towards an eruption of pleasure. You look at the picture again and notice the reflection in the picture of his wife…

You can see him, standing over you — one hand working your hot wet little hole as you are splayed across the desk — the other furiously masturbating his cock…

As she watches…

You bite down hard…

As the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had shudders through your body… flashes of patchy light shoot across your eyes — your whole body immersed in a wave of ecstasy as your thighs clamp together — holding his fingers desperately inside you as your body judders around them.

And then you relax slightly — enough for him to pull his sopping wet fingers out. For the first time in what must be minutes you attempt to breath… trying to re-establish some control over your own body. He has moved back — you’ve been released in every way.

You slide off the desk and turn — finding yourself on your knees before him — watching as he strokes his cock — looking hungrily into your eyes.

Instinctively you move towards it with your mouth, eager to please… but he pulls away. Amidst the look of furious lust in his eyes, you capture his fleeting glance towards the picture on the desk. Through all this, he is making some kind of moral calculation — as to what is and isn’t acceptable.

Instead — you kneel before him and compliantly open your mouth hungrily — offering it to him. He shifts forward and grabs your hair — pulling it back , allowing your eyes lock — as he shoots a massive load into your mouth and onto your face. This — you wanted – You wanted to taste him, to show him how much you enjoyed all that had gone before, to show him you were his…

His body spasms as if a massive release of stress, frustration and desire is happening. This is so different — this time you don’t mind it — you want to be treated this way. You’ll wonder later why it feels so right but you know, in this moment, how it does.

You taste him on your tongue, your lips… your fingers wash around your face — greedily pushing every last drop into your hungry mouth.

And then, as if in the eye of the storm — there is suddenly silence in the room, punctuated only by the drone of a man in San Diego going through projected quarterly breakdowns.

Amanda from Detroit’s voice cuts through like a hacksaw again.

“I just don’t see how the revenue sharing is going to work”

Sir turns his look away from you — the moment — whatever it was, over.

“Well, it’s pretty straight forward Amanda…”

As he speaks, you stand up and brush yourself down.

Your eyes linger on each other, unspoken words passing between you. A line has been crossed that can’t be crossed back.

This is something else now.

With a nervous smile you turn and depart the room — straight to the lady’s where you clean yourself up… then nip quickly into a stall and — for the second time that night — your pussy is fingered to climax. Nowhere near as good as the last one, this is just you on your own — needing to relive what just happened as quickly as possible.

You don’t know what it is…

All you know is…

You want more.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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