The Boss Read online

  ‘Mmm …’ He bent his head and held her open with his thumbs, licking and nipping at her pussy lips before thrusting his tongue deep inside her. She squirmed to get closer, blatantly rubbing herself over his working mouth and unshaven chin until she climaxed. He groaned his approval against her clit and one of his fingers slid back to rim her asshole before venturing inside. She braced her hands on the cold marble as he pulled away, his face wet with her juices, his eyes narrowed and so blue that she felt as if she was looking at the ocean again.

  ‘Take out my cock and suck it.’

  He slid a hand around the back of her neck, bending her forwards until she could unzip his jeans and release his hard hot length. She licked him like an ice cream, and he pushed against her lips until she took him deep, swallowed him down and sucked him in a regular driving pattern. He groaned her name, brought a hand round to her ass and flipped up her skirt. She smelled the rose soap by the sink and then his slick finger sank into her ass and then another one. His thumb delved into her cunt.

  ‘Have you ever had three guys, Meredith?’ he murmured. ‘Fucking you, filling you?’

  She couldn’t answer him with his shaft stretching her throat, but she came for him, let him know how much his words excited her.

  ‘Fuck, I’d like to be part of that. Three of us on you until we ran out of come.’

  He grunted and shoved his hips forwards and came down her throat, holding her head so that she had to take everything. Not that she wanted to move, not that she wanted to be anywhere but where she was right now with him all around her. She waited until he relaxed his grip on her hair before sitting upright again. He kissed her mouth, one hand still buried between her legs, the other pinching her nipples. She’d never felt so alive, so well used, so drunk on the smell and power of sex.

  ‘We’re not finished yet,’ he whispered. ‘I’m going to take everything from you tonight, strip you down to basics, make you think of nothing else but me and my cock and what I’m going to do to you next.’ He nipped her breast through her dress, making her shudder. ‘Maybe I’ll fuck you in front of everyone. Get Josh and Will to help. Make you kneel at our feet and suck cock all night. I wonder if you’d be able to stop me?’

  She finally found her voice. ‘What if I didn’t want to stop you?’

  He moved back, slowly buttoned his jeans and washed his hands. ‘Then we might have a problem.’

  He unlocked the door and left. Meredith reached forwards and relocked it with fingers that shook. She was going crazy. Was she really contemplating publicly fucking the owner of the company and her two best friends at the company party? What about her colleagues? What about her hard-earned respect? She retied her halter neck and smoothed down her rumpled skirt. But the thought of making Robert Clevedon lose control was almost worth the risk.

  The sun had disappeared below the horizon and a lot of the party guests had disappeared as well. The remainder were sitting watching something sporty on a big flat-screen TV. Meredith squeezed in on the end of the couch next to Josh and Will who scooted up to make room for her. No one bothered to put the main lights on, and the shadows lengthened throughout the room.

  Meredith felt rather than saw Robert sit beside her. He leaned in close and murmured, ‘I’m not much into American sports. I don’t have a clue what’s going on here.’

  ‘I can help you with that,’ Meredith whispered in return, allowing her hand to drop to his thigh and the bulge of his cock. Will glanced down at her and angled his shoulder to shield her and Robert from the rest of the party. When everyone started shouting at the umpire, she eased Robert’s zip down and released his cock, wrapped her hand around him and worked him through her fingers.

  He leaned against the couch, his arms spread along the back, and let her play with him. The soft wet sounds were easily covered by the noise of the TV. Unlike Will and Josh, he wasn’t circumcised, and she enjoyed dragging down his foreskin to expose the tender flesh of his wet slit.

  A roar went up from the TV viewers and Robert’s arm came around Meredith’s waist. In one rough motion, he lifted her onto his lap and down on his cock. She bit her lip as he filled her, then saw Will realise what Robert had done and nudge Josh. God, he was big and she was so over-sensitive now. One flick of his finger on her clit made her come and she had nowhere to hide, had to ride out the pleasure among the cheers for the local team.

  Eventually Robert lifted her off him, his smile still firmly in place. He held out his hand and murmured just loudly enough for Josh and Will to hear him as well. ‘I want all three of us to fuck you. I don’t think we’ll be missed for a while. Come upstairs.’

  Meredith smiled at him and nudged Josh and Will until they also got up. She was finally going to get her perfect sexual fantasy. And even better, if she were lucky, every time Robert Clevedon was in town, that fantasy would become her permanent reality.

  What the Maid Saw

  Justine Elyot

  They looked like an interesting couple. I watched them sidelong while I dusted a bust of some ancient lord or other, as they checked in at reception.

  They had booked separate rooms, but were allotted the ones with the connecting door, whether by chance or prior arrangement I didn’t know. Their dress suggested a working partnership, with him in the superior role. She was perhaps a PA or less senior member of the organisation. She let him do all the talking at the desk and hung back, fidgeting with her phone.

  I admired her shapely bottom in its tight-fitting skirt and the curve of her calves, displayed to advantage by her strappy black heels. I imagined my hands on that arse, squeezing little dimples into the cheeks with my thumbs. I imagined those sky-high heels over my shoulders while I licked her sweet little pussy. Was he going to do all that? Or were they genuine colleagues? Somehow, I didn’t think so.

  I was still in the lobby with my polish and dusters when they came down from their rooms for tea on the terrace. I applied a final wipe to a vase and hotfooted upstairs, keen to indulge my favourite hobby.

  I am making a collection of photographs – call it an art project – of the guests’ belongings. I think it will make an intriguing exhibition when it is finished. All the detritus of life is in it: the pill bottles, the discarded novels, the ripped stockings, the binned pregnancy tests, the dying anniversary flowers. Once, a gun. Another time, a crack pipe and a wad of money. But most of what I photograph is sexual. Vibrators, used underwear, handcuffs. He looks like a handcuffs man.

  I opted for the room on the right, which appeared to be hers. It had all the typical feminine fixings. An evening dress hung on the outside of the wardrobe. Perfumes and lotions on the dresser. I opened the drawer, hoping for something shocking, but found only some electric chargers and a Gideon bible. Her underwear yielded no latex or leather, not even anything cheekily crotchless.

  Perhaps I was wrong and they were simply a boss and a secretary spending a post-conference night here.

  Footsteps on the landing threw me into panic. Had they changed their minds about the tea? I considered hiding in the wardrobe, but seconds later realised that they were both going into the room nextdoor.

  His was the voice I heard first. ‘I’ve told you about this before,’ he said. ‘You do not give orders. You leave the ordering to me.’

  ‘But you were in the lobby, seeing about your newspaper. And they came to take the order. And I knew what you wanted.’

  ‘None of that alters anything, Mara. You have broken a rule. And you know what happens when you break a rule, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ she said with a resigned sigh.

  Mara might have known what happened when she broke a rule, but I didn’t, and I very much wanted to. I tiptoed to the connecting door, knelt down and put my eye to the keyhole.

  He stood by the bed with his arms folded while she – Mara – was rummaging in a dresser drawer. She had her back to me and, as she bent to retrieve whatever it was, her bottom was thrust out, tautening her skirt to maximum stretch. He was
looking at it too, the dirty bastard, getting a good long eyeful.

  She straightened up again, turned and handed him something. It was a leather strap, about half an inch thick, with a grip for the hand at one end.

  I took a deep breath. I was in for a treat.

  When he took the strap, he slapped it into his palm, as if testing its painfulness, then he nodded.

  ‘You know what comes next,’ he prompted, and the lovely Mara dropped on her knees in front of him, head bowed.

  ‘Please, Sir, I’m sorry I broke a rule and I beg to be punished for it.’

  ‘I’m considering it.’

  ‘Please, Sir. I really need it. Please punish me.’

  ‘How hard?’

  ‘As hard as you think I deserve.’

  ‘Good.’

  He was good. Very good. Making her beg for it – nice touch. I’d have to add it to my repertoire.

  She bent to kiss his shiny shoes, her silky hair falling over her cheek. I pictured her bending like that to lick my clit, all so sweetly submissive and obedient. I raised my skirt to my waist and put my fingers down my knickers. Damn this stupid country-house hotel and its inconvenient uniform.

  ‘We’ll start with my hand,’ he said, seating himself in the armless straight-backed chair by the bureau. ‘Remove your skirt and place yourself over my knee.’

  I watched her unzip, my mouth watering as I wondered which view of her I would have. Perhaps her face, suffering and contorting in pain. Or perhaps her bottom. I rather hoped for the latter.

  Her tight skirt had been tugged down over the swell of her hips before I glimpsed her milky thighs, with their suspender straps interrupting the smooth expanse of skin. She stepped out of it and laid herself gracefully over his lap. Joy of joys, I had the most perfect view of her upthrust bum, the flesh spilling from her silky shorts.

  Not that the silky shorts lasted long, for he peeled them down until her bottom was bare and they rested just above her lace stocking tops. Now her arse was cunningly framed by the suspender belt and straps, with the froth of silk and lace three-quarters of the way down her thighs.

  She was ready to begin. And so was I. My finger was on the button. Three, two, one …

  But he wanted to lecture her first, it seemed, while his hand moved idly round and round her vulnerable cheeks. He spoke about mindfulness of rules, respect, discipline and duty. She chimed in only to say ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘No, Sir’ but he seemed satisfied with this.

  His palm flattened against her buttocks, which tensed immediately. I imagined her teeth and fists clenched in concert.

  ‘Now this is just to start us off,’ he warned her, starting in with quick, sharp smacks across the centre of her quivering bum. He did not seem to be putting a great deal of effort into it, lifting his arm only to chest height before swooping his hand down to meet her flesh, but the sound was music to my ears, as were Mara’s wails and complaints.

  ‘Oh! Ouch! Ouch! It hurts!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mara, this is a gentle warm-up. I haven’t even started.’

  A long, despairing moan met this statement, but I could see that the boss was warming to his work now, laying on harder and harder strokes, at times leaving handprints. It was strangely aesthetically pleasing to watch Mara’s bum jiggling around and changing to a deep-pink colour under her employer’s chastising hand and I watched transfixed, hoping that he would carry on for a very long time. Much as Mara disliked the slow, hard strokes, she seemed to hate the sudden volleys of speedy ones even more, for these made her wriggle and twist like fury, calling out for him to please, stop, please, it was too much, she would be good, oh, she would. But he was utterly resolute and no amount of gasping, pleading or tearful contrition would deflect him from his purpose. Only when Mara’s poor bottom was fully and blazingly reddened and her kicking legs limp and spent did he begin to stay his hand.

  For my part, my hand was hard at work, stuffed eagerly inside my cotton boyshorts, and I knelt with my fingers stroking the wiry curls of my muff and my longing clit, excited beyond expectation at Mara’s humiliation.

  Oh, why did it have to end? I silently protested. Mara’s bottom had taken ten long minutes of this summary treatment, but I wanted to see more.

  I uttered mute thanks to an unnamed deity when the boss, helping his subdued secretary to her feet, instructed her to go and bend over the side of the bed with her bottom high and her feet apart. This was not the end!

  My joy was not matched by Mara, whose lower lip stuck out a mile.

  I wondered about this dynamic. Surely it must be consensual. They would have a safeword, presumably. He seemed highly experienced, at least, and they had clearly developed their own rituals.

  ‘Mara, a spanking by my hand is the least you can expect for petty rulebreaking. Breaking one of the golden rules of obedience merits the application of something a little more forceful. If you are to learn, I must be strict and consistent with you. Do you understand?’

  ‘I am too sore,’ she snuffled.

  ‘Do you understand, or shall I be harder on you than I originally intended? There will be extra strokes for defiance.’

  Mara let out a great howl of anguish, but she went to the bed and obediently bent herself over the side, grasping the frame. Her sore bottom glowed like a beacon amid the pale-pink frilliness that framed it. I sucked in a breath on her behalf, then another when Mara parted her feet, as instructed. All at once, that gorgeous little slut’s most secret and intimate parts were visible, tender pink lips spread and vulnerable. To me they looked edible and I imagined my teeth nipping and tongue licking at the tempting array.

  But it seemed that Mara could not expect anything so pleasurable, as the boss had picked up that wicked-looking brown leather strap and stood testing it for bend and snappiness.

  ‘Do you ever go anywhere without those nasty things?’ blurted Mara, fearfully watching him stroke the supple hide then bend and flex it against his palm before slapping it gently down.

  He looked over at her, strap in hand, without answering.

  ‘You will count,’ he said briskly, crossing to stand at her rear. ‘I plan to apply twenty strokes, but I will give extra for broken position or disobedience of any kind. Now then.’

  He swung the strap through the air a few times before allowing it to whistle down and snap across Mara’s backside, causing her to sing out in pain and rock on her heels until she could count out a shaky ‘One, Sir’.

  I noted the wide red stripe left to burn across Mara’s bottom and watched agog as the rest were delivered, slowly and with decorum, sometimes leaving a little pause for Mara to recollect herself, falling across the full width of her bum and down to the upper thighs, which appeared especially painful. I fidgeted furiously with my needful bud while I watched Mara lift her feet, clutch the bed frame and yelp into the mattress, as her bottom received stripe after stripe. The air around me smoked and snapped with the sounds and scents of punishment and arousal; the shocking crack of the strap urged my fingers on to the completion of the quest.

  Mara earned herself two extra strokes by jumping up straight and rubbing her bottom furiously, and, by the time the twenty-second was applied and counted, I had found my moment of sweet release, biting my lip as she doubled over on the floor, intent on allowing no sound to betray me.

  I shuffled back to my knees for a final glimpse of Mara’s crimson bum with its pattern of long rectangles. The girl was panting and mewling, still bent over, while bossman was issuing some words of wisdom or other which went over my head, so transfixed was I by the obvious changes that had been wrought to Mara’s cunt. Now it was deeper in colour, swollen and glistening slightly with what must surely be her female juices. It certainly seemed that Mara had taken some pleasure from the pain. It wasn’t my bag – I used to think it was some myth made up to suit the purpose of cruelly inclined men. But I had seen enough juicy little pain sluts over the years, and here was Mara, almost dripping …

  I watched the er
rant secretary slowly uncurl her spine and stand, head bowed and bum burning, before her master.

  He bent and whispered something into her ear. She grimaced and turned towards me and – oh, shit! – she was coming straight towards the door.

  I didn’t have time to stand straight, still less back away, before the handle turned. It was unlocked. I hadn’t thought it would be unlocked. In my haste to scramble out of view, somewhere, anywhere, I fell backwards.

  When the door opened, my fingers were still struggling to escape my knickers and my skirt was hiked around my waist.

  Mara’s hands flew to her mouth and she aimed a desperate look at her boss. So did I.

  What the hell was going to happen now?

  I retrieved my juice-stained fingers and tried to stand, blabbing out incoherent apologies. At least, they might have been apologies, or I might have just repeated ‘Oh, God’over and over.

  The boss, surprisingly unruffled, simply folded his arms and watched me. ‘What have we here?’ he said. Then he crooked a finger.

  ‘Please don’t report me,’ I whispered, finally managing to arrange my legs and my skirt so as to allow me to get up.

  He shook his head and shushed me.

  I walked past the curious Mara and presented myself to the boss. I couldn’t look at him, focusing instead on my fingers, which gripped each other so tightly they whitened around the knuckles.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A chambermaid. Sir.’

  ‘No, I mean what’s your name?’

  ‘Kim, Sir.’

  ‘And what were you doing, crouched down there by the door?’

  ‘I was … polishing the handle, Sir.’

  Even as I said the words, I knew lying was a bad idea, but I felt I had to make the token gesture, or he’d think I was some kind of pushover.

  ‘Polishing the handle? Look at me.’

  I twisted my neck to the side, but he repeated the instruction and I lifted my eyes with much reluctance to his.