It has always seemed to me that women in every field, including business, are able to understand each other. Later, I bumped into the reality of a corporation but guess what? In the end, I was right. My previous boss was a terrible bitch. She was chasing us evenly from top to bottom. For me, as her assistant, it was the worst. How many times have I heard “What about these documents?” When will she finally get them? That I am incompetent? Until one evening we were left alone behind closed doors.
Ms. Renee turned to me. “You are needed after hours.”
“But this is so last minute,” I stammered, knowing how much she disliked being opposed by anyone.
“Too bad,” she said indifferently, waving her hand carelessly. “I need you, so please don’t try to run off.” I stayed. Pissed off at the whole world. Why me? Why, of all the employees of this fucking company, she had to pick me to help? I was sitting at my desk, angry and hardly concentrating on my work.
Eventually, when most of my coworkers had left, she came out of her office. “Please come see me,” she said firmly. I got up heavily from my chair and walked over to her. I closed the door behind me and clasped my hands together. Not knowing why at that moment she seemed more attractive. I guess you could put it that way. Ms. Renee interlaced her fingers and placed her hands on the desktop. “Do you know what a projection is?” The question surprised me.
We were an insurance company, so the term didn’t seem to work in our company. I shrugged. “Excuse me Ms. but in what concept?”
“Psychology, my dear,” she offered me a leather bag in which something rang. She encouraged me to look in. I was speechless. Inside were handcuffs, whips, vibrators.”Do you know why I treat you like a bitch?” I looked at her blankly. “Because I dreamt that you would do the same with me.” I quickly understood what she meant. I grabbed the fur-lined handcuffs, lifted them on my finger, looked at them, and then at my boss. She looked at me hungrily, thirsty for fun and pleasure behind closed doors.
“Okay, bitch. Make it up to me for this time you’ve been rude to me,” I ordered. At that moment, I was confused by my own willingness. I’m straight! I had a boyfriend who was waiting for me, but I really wanted to. I walked around the desk and sat with my legs wide apart, lifting my obscenely short skirt. “Lick me,” I commanded, and she politely knelt in front of me and began to caress my pussy with taste. She was skilled, I admit. I could feel the bliss come and go in waves, especially as she put it deeper. But my clitoris went crazy for her fingers. With all due respect to my partner, he wasn’t nearly as good as my boss.
“Fuck me,” she gasped finally, “Fuck me like a slut.” She jumped up from her knees and took the dildo from her bag. Sighing as I saw how huge it was with a stick on one side and the pole on the other. I adjusted it so that I could fuck her and had the pleasure of it myself. I didn’t wait, I took off my skirt and fastened the straps until it was buckled up tight against me. Then, I put the lube on and entered her slit sharply. “Oh yes!” she moaned, “Do it! Make me a slut!”
What was I supposed to do? This is my boss, after all. This command I fulfilled with great pleasure behind closed doors. I grabbed her by the shag and started to push it sharply from behind. Suddenly, I realized why my boyfriend liked the position so much. The sight of her ass made me leak, plus that pole inside me when I moved my hips. Was it taking a long time? I don’t know, I remember when we started it was still bright outside. We ended up sweating; followed by another orgasm. In addition, my phone showed twelve calls from my boyfriend.
When I slid out of her pussy, her hole was huge like after an all-night orgy. She dismissed me, wiping her sweaty face with her forearm. “Please prepare for the fact that soon you will have to stay after hours again.” Anything for the sake of the company, right?
Check out my latest blog: A Parisian Affair. Paris’ Romantic Spell.
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