In His Hands: Part Three (Final) free porn video

Working for Andrew was far more challenging than fucking him. When I got to his office it was worse than a mess. There was nothing in the way of a filing system for his contacts. His office was a series of disorganized piles of papers with his computer lost in the midst of it all. Nobody had been keeping a calendar for him, so all of his appointments were recorded on little pieces of paper that he stuck to the receptionist's desk which, until now, no one had worked at.

It took me the better part of the first two weeks to enter all of the appointments electronically, with all of my other duties. By then, he'd missed two meetings and chastised me for it.

Mr. Katz stopped by to see me as he sometimes did. It didn't improve Andrew's mood to see him. When my boss finished yelling and went back into his office, Mr. Katz whispered, "Don't let him fool you. Most weeks he's lucky to make half of his appointments. Just missing two is an improvement for him."

"Maddie!" Andrew barked from his office. "I don't pay you to socialize."

"Sorry, Sir," I called back.

"Sorry," Mr. Katz whispered, looking sheepish.

When we got home that night, after Andrew's second missed appointment, he didn't even invite me to his room; he dragged me there by my upper arm. We didn't make it inside the apartment. He fucked me against the outside of the door with our clothes still on. "Stop flirting with John Katz," he growled through gritted teeth. "You're mine."

I didn't answer. I wasn't flirting with anyone. The last thing I needed was another man in my life. And I wasn't Andrew's; I was rented. But, I didn't see how pointing that out would improve my situation.

"Say it, Maddie," he ordered in that strained tone. He pounded me harder. It almost hurt.

I stayed quiet.

He held my face so I had to look at him, sweat running down his face. "Say it," he ordered.

"I'm not yours," I whispered. He stopped moving. "I'm not going to lie to you."

He withdrew from me and pushed me away from him. We both panted like we had just finished running. He looked hurt and it made me feel bad. "I'm not flirting with Mr. Katz, either," I said, hoping that improved the situation. "He talks to me. I can't ignore him."

He looked at me a moment. "I don't want you fucking anyone else," he finally said. "I know that isn't part of the agreement but I don't want you to."

I just blinked at him. "I don't know where you think I would find the time or energy."

He looked me up and down, grinned, and gestured for me to come into his apartment with him. The rest of the night he was much gentler. He also used my implants to make me come. His face lit up like a little boy when he had control of my arms, like I was the best toy he had ever played with. His eyes glowed as he watched me come, so I considered the night a success. I tried not to remind myself that I was really only two weeks into my indentured servitude.

#

Managing Andrew's tension was my biggest challenge.

I started each morning by getting him two cups of coffee--the first one virgin, the second one laced with whiskey. About twenty minutes after his second cup of coffee, I came into his office to go over his appointments and meetings with him, something that put him in a very grumpy mood. With the whisky, though, he didn't yell.

It didn't take me long to figure out why he hated the meetings and appointments. He wasn't very social and he wasn't particularly liked. However, he was the genius behind everything the company did. My sensory implants could be placed in any part of the body; the neural connector let the paralyzed control a robot as their avatar using just thoughts, the electronic eyes for the blind. He did all of this work on his own. The meetings were a way for the rest of the company to have a say in the things he invented and to figure out how to market them.

Mr. Katz was an engineer, so he at least understood Andrew's drawings. He was also the only person that Andrew would discuss his inventions with or take advice from. Once I heard Mr. Katz say, "I know it's a better conductor, Andy. But nobody is going to buy the unit if it costs twenty thousand credits." I thought Andrew would lose his temper, but instead he nodded in a resigned way and returned to his drawings. And another day, "You can't implant something the size of a ring box into someone's abdomen. I don't care if it's a failsafe mood stabilizer. You have to make it smaller." They argued, but Andrew returned to his plans without submitting them to anyone for approval.

When the board told Andy that he should stop making plans for a robotic sexual companion, he lost his temper in a way I could hear from my desk. He yelled. The board members yelled back. He said it was something that would help millions of men. They said that it would turn them from a respectable company to something associated with pornography.

"There's a thriving prostitution market, Andy," Mr. Katz said, soothing him as he walked out. "People need medical devices, not more avenues for sex."

"Sometimes sex is medicinal," he muttered.

He worked feverishly every morning. It was his most productive time of day. If he hadn't mentioned lunch to me by eleven, I ordered him something and brought it to him. On good mornings--ones where he worked out some tricky problem or come up with some new idea--his passion for me and the invention seemed intertwined. He would work through the afternoon, playful in the way he spoke to me, and keep me in his apartment late after work. On mornings where he was unhappy with his progress, he scolded me for some misdemeanor all afternoon and left me to myself in the evenings.

It took me that whole first six weeks to have a system for everything: his appointments, his notes on his inventions, his favorite meals, his correspondence (which until now had gone largely unanswered), and his contacts, which he expected me to know after one quick description of who the person was and what department they worked in. I traveled with a small electronic notebook in my jacket pocket to take down things he said.

By the end of the second month I was seeing more to his personal needs. I kept extra liquor in my desk for bad days. There was a spare umbrella hidden in the closet, since he always forgot his and liked to walk around outside alone if his work wasn't going well. I ordered his car to go home or, rarely, out to a business dinner. If it wasn't for me, he probably would have only eaten dinner and maybe not even that. Alcohol inched into the places where meals should be.

Even when he was drunk, he wanted me. I might even say that he wanted me more, but in a different way. He held me when he was drunk, calling me to his lap, opening my blouse, and pressing his cheek against my bare breast. He spent long minutes just kissing me and touching me, making a show of taking me to his bed. He took my clothes off slowly, like he was unwrapping a gift. When we fucked, it wasn't fucking exactly. It was something gentler. Sober, he was all about getting to his orgasm. Drunk, he was about the experience. I'll admit that there were advantages to both. In spite of myself, I felt myself growing warm towards Andrew Mueller.

In the third month, I had almost settled into this new life. Andrew was a vigorous but not inattentive lover. I came with him more often than I had any right to expect. He, on the other hand, got off more than any man I had ever been around. Everything I did seemed to arouse him. I started to wonder if he had some sort of electronic implant in his cock that kept him ever at the ready. But, as time wore on, I realized that sex, with a confirmed and ready partner, was his outlet for everything: lust, frustration, anger, loneliness, business success...everything.

I also learned, through office gossip, that most people believed Andrew to be gay. The intent wasn't malicious; it was just that nobody had ever seen him with a woman. Of course, he had been spending much of his free time at the brothel, where anonymity was assured and personal relationships were not built. And now he was having his appetite satisfied by sex with me on the sly at least twice most work nights and the better part of a Saturday or Sunday. And this was a slower pace than he was keeping a month earlier.

#

In the fourth month that I worked for Andrew, a catastrophe happened. The robot designed to serve as a companion for paraplegic people failed its motor skills test. The unit was less than six weeks from shipment and it wasn't functional. It couldn't button a shirt or tie a tie--or do any task involving fine control. If this couldn't be rectified, shipments would be delayed. Contracts would be breached. There would be lots of lost money, though there was plenty of money to lose, in my opinion.

Andrew's mood was abysmal and his work day never ended. We stayed until nine or ten. I brought him food that he barely touched while he scanned the plans for the robotic hands and arms he had created and searched for the flaw. He drank more and more, starting at lunch. I supported his weight from the car to his apartment every night. At first he asked me in, so drunk he could do little more than fondle me until he passed out. After a week of this, he started waving me away at the door to his apartment. One night, after I dropped him off I heard breaking glass. It sounded like he hurled a drinking glass at the wall. I must have stared at his door for twenty minutes trying to figure out what to do. Eventually, I went back to my room.

Things continued to be tense for about six weeks. Then, one evening at work, about three weeks from the end of our agreement, a reasonably sober Andrew came to my desk. "I think I've figured something out but I need your help."

"Me?"

"Your implants. I'm more familiar with yours than anything I have on hand to test the neural connection. The robot is modeled after the muscular element of your model."

I didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but if it put him in a better mood, I was willing to try. "Okay." I stood and followed him into his office.

"I'll have to put the connection to your implants on the network temporarily, so I can access them though my neural device."

"I don't know what that means."

"I'm going to be thinking what I want you to do."

"Oh. Weird."

He wasn't listening. He worked at his computer, which was half buried in papers. "Ready?" he asked me.

"Yep." The feeling left my arms.

He fastened a blinking sensor to his temple and came around to stand in front of me. I watched my arms reach out in front of me. My hands fisted and unfisted. He spread my fingers and relaxed them. "Everything looks good here," he said. "I'm going to see if you can open the drawer on my desk."

I stood in front of it. My arm reached out and my hand touched the handle but dropped before it gripped. "There it is." I reached again and didn't grab the handle. "Ok, one more time," he said, seemingly to himself. This time, I reached slower, my hand opened, I did grip the handle, and I pulled the drawer open.

"The neural receiver isn't interpreting the thought fast enough." He took the device off of his temple and opened it. He held it under a magnifier and waved a glowing tool over it. Then he reapplied it and looked at me again. A second later, my arm reached out faster, my hand missed the handle, and then I gestured like I was opening a drawer in thin air.

"Now, it's misaligned," he muttered, pulling the device off and waving the glowing tool over it again.

He attached it to his temple again and looked at me. I reached out easily and opened the drawer. "Let me see if it can go finer," he said. My hand reached for a pencil and I bent over so that I could reach it. Then, my hand wrote--in shaky but legible handwriting--'Andrew Mueller'.

The first grin in weeks played on his lips. A hot, excited look came into his eyes, too. So far, he had been completely professional with me at the office but I sensed he wasn't thinking professional thoughts at this moment. Success tended to do that to him.

"Let's see how fine the control is," he purred, walking over to me. I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my own blouse, smoothly and without a stutter. "Very nice."

"Did you fix the problem?" I asked.

"I think I did." He leaned into me and kissed my neck, inhaling as his lips moved down, past my collar, into the open V of my blouse.

"Andy!"

Mr. Katz stood in the doorway, red-faced and distressed looking. Andrew jumped back from me, glanced at Mr. Katz, and then hurried to the computer to send the feeling back into my arms. "We were working on the dexterity error," he said. It even sounded like a bad excuse to me.

"Maddie is your assistant," he scolded. "What you were doing is against a company policy that you set."

I buttoned up my blouse quickly. "Would you excuse me, please?" I said and slipped out of the room. That didn't save me from hearing much of the ensuing lecture from Mr. Katz, delivered with a good man's righteous indignation. When he stormed out of Andrew's office, he stopped at my desk.

"Are you all right, Maddie?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"If you choose to report this--"

"No. I'm fine."

Mr. Katz gave me a long, hard look and started to walk away.

I stood. "Look, Mr. Katz, I have implants."

He stopped and turned.

"To control my arms remotely," I added. "Mr. Mueller was using them to figure out what's wrong with your robots. He got a little over-excited when he fixed your problem. That's it. It wasn't anything."

"Andy fixed the problem?"

"You should go back and ask him."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Why do you have implants? It wasn't to get this job, was it?"

"No," I said quickly. "It was for my last one."

"What did you do?"

I was such a suck-ass liar, I wasn't even going to try to make something up. I just looked at this nice man and pinched my lips together. "I'd rather not say," I told him.

He gave me a long look. "If you'd rather not."

I glanced at the door to Andrew's office. "You really should ask him about the robots," I told him.

He gave me another long look but he finally did as I said. The door closed behind him and I didn't hear anything--including yelling, which was good. They were in there for more than three hours and when they came out they were both drunk.

I ordered a car for each man and helped Andrew into his. Then I helped him up to his penthouse. I thought he was going to pull me after him into his place, but he didn't. Instead, he looked me up and down.

"That meddlesome fuck, John Katz, told me that you deserved better than me mauling you. That you got my life in order. He said I used to be an unreliable drunk and now I was an organized drunk because of you."

"Who cares?" I told him, punching his code into the lock. My virtues, as Mr. Katz saw them, was not going to put Andrew in a better mood. "Do you want me to come in?"

"Do you want to?"

That was a new one. And since I didn't lie easily, I said, "No, I want to go downstairs and go to sleep. I'm exhausted. But if you want me to come in, I will."

He laughed. "Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

I looked at him. He seemed a little subdued, especially considering he had just solved a multi-gazillion dollar problem. I fully expected to spend the night rigorously celebrating.

I backed away before he changed his mind. "Okay, Andrew. Good night."

#

The very next day, Andrew was able to announce that he had found the flaw in the robot-human connection. He knew how to fix it. A long, four-hour meeting drained all of the tension out of the building. The board took Andrew out for drinks afterwards and I went home alone.

That night--or perhaps early Saturday morning--I woke up to Andrew standing--or swaying--over my bed. He just wore pajama bottoms and no top. I'll admit, my adrenaline surged. He hadn't ever just let himself into my apartment before. He always at least knocked.

"Hi Andrew," I said, trying to keep the tension out of my voice.

"I have you for two more weeks," he slurred.

"Yes, you do."

"Two weeks and then good-bye, Maddie."

"Are you cold?" I asked, pulling the covers back.

He seemed to focus on me.

"You can lay down here." It was better to be soothing than to answer his questions, I had learned.

He crawled in beside me and pulled me to him, clumsily pushing my shirt over my head and throwing it aside, pulling my naked chest skin-to-skin with his. He kissed me deeply and I sensed something different. His arousal wasn't escalating the way it usually did. His hands caressed my bare back; his mouth opened mine. My body responded to his touch, but he didn't seem to be looking for sex. He held me, his heart beating against my chest.

"I want to keep you," he slurred.

Don't ask me why, but I wanted to comfort him. Maybe it was because he had been better than his word, so far, making sure that I had the right clothes when I took my classes and enough food from the moment I left the brothel. Maybe because he sounded vulnerable and I'm not an asshole. Whatever it was, I tightened my arms around him. "I don't know what I'm going to do in two weeks, Andrew," I said. "I haven't made up my mind, yet."

He kissed me, pressing my head back into the pillow. "Will you still let me do this?"

"No. Probably not." I saw a flash of hurt and it kind of jabbed at me, too. "At least not for a little while," I amended.

"A little while?"

"I don’t know. Some down-time from your dick."

He laughed drunkenly. "Down-time. I like that." He fondled me and brought my hands to his naked chest. "Did you ever want to feel what it would be like to control someone else's implants?"

"I'd just like to be in charge of my own body for a while," I said. I circled his nipples with my thumbs. "Do you want me to suck your cock?"

He could barely focus on my face. "I always want you to suck my cock. You're not even good at it."

"I told you that before this whole thing started."

"There's something about the sight of me in your mouth, though. It fucking sends me every time."

"So, yes?" I asked.

"No. I want something else."

Okay, I'll admit it. My first thought went to anal. We hadn't yet. I was grateful about that, given his size and my inexperience. However, I resolved to do whatever he asked.

"Tell me what to do."

He smirked. Before I could figure out what that meant, he kissed down my body, under the covers and pulled at my pajama pants, nipping at the waistband with his teeth. He yanked them off in little tugs. "Open your legs," he instructed from under the covers.

My whole lower body clenched. He'd had me in just about every position imaginable. I'd sucked his cock sitting and standing. He'd fingered me with expert precision. All things I would be expected to do or accept as a whore. His mouth on me was not.

"Andrew, don't. Okay?"

"Anything I want," he said. "And I want this."

"You're drunk. You're going to be mad I let you do this in the morning."

"Your objections are noted. Open your legs." He held my hips and kissed along my lower stomach.

"Andrew--"

"Open them."

"I don’t need--"

"Open your fucking legs."

"Asshole." I parted my knees and bit my lower lip.

I couldn't see what he was doing, but I felt his breath and nose skimming my inner thigh. His hands pressed me wider. Then, he opened me with his thumbs and stroked me with his tongue.

I had let one guy do this to me when I was seventeen and this was nothing like that. This tongue swirled over me in the same places his fingers tickled; I strained into it. I gasped and moaned, unable to keep my body in check. I should have known that a guy who used his hands so well would be amazing with his mouth.

My orgasm rose and he stopped, the way he had that first night with the implants. "I'm going to make you come. I want to hear it," he told me.

Then, he returned to me, pressing his face into me, his tongue relentless. I grabbed handfuls of my pillow while he worked me. I glanced down. The comforter had shifted and I could see one of my legs and his blonde head between my legs. I clenched and came, crying out without pretention. He finished me and slid back up to the pillow while I caught my breath. I didn't know what was appropriate in a situation like this. "Thank you," I finally said.

He chuckled, still drunk but much more sleepily. "My pleasure." His eyes drooped. "I'm sleeping here."

"Don't you want me to suck you off or something?"

"Not tonight."

"All right then."

He pulled me into him, me nude and him topless, his erection pressing into me unattended. I fell asleep in his arms. And I woke up alone.

#

The robots were shipped on time: eight days before my work for Andrew was completed. He stopped working like a man possessed but he also didn’t seem happy. We went in together every morning. We came home at night. He went to his penthouse. I went to my apartment. He didn't call for me.

We also didn't talk about the night he came to me. He acted like nothing had happened when he saw me on Monday morning. Never mind that he let a Sunday go by without fucking me. Then twelve more days after that.

It was actually the day before my six months was up, a Saturday, that he called me to his penthouse again. I went up and let myself in as I always did. He sat on his couch with two envelopes. "Good evening, Maddie. Please, sit."

I sat across from him.

"This is for you." He handed me one of the envelopes. I took it, watching him, and then opened it. It was my recommendation and it was glowing. With it, I could get job with just about anyone.

"Thank you," I said.

"This is also for you," he said, handing me a smaller white envelope.

It was a two year contract to be an assistant to Mr. Katz at twice the pay. It included an upgrade in apartments that would take me out of this building. It was shocking to feel disappointment at the thought of moving. It was shocking to feel disappointment at the thought of not working for Andrew.

"You don't need an assistant anymore?" I asked.

"You can't work for me. If I'm close to you, I want to fuck you. I promised you after six months I'd let you go. I won't if you're here."

I was shocked to feel another stab of disappointment. What was wrong with me? Did I like being a whore? "Can I think about this?" I asked.

A shadow of disappointment crossed his face and then cleared. "Of course."

"I'll let you and Mr. Katz know tomorrow."

"Thank you, Maddie." He stood. "Now, if you would excuse me." He was headed for the bar when I walked out.

#

I sat in my room for hours, thinking about Andrew. He was tortured and brilliant and forceful and fucked up. I was good as his assistant. I didn't want to be an assistant to Mr. Katz.

I also didn't want to prostitute myself any more.

The problem was that I couldn't think about sex without thinking of it as a transaction. I'd had one sexual partner before I entered prostitution. After that it felt like the only sex that I should have would be that which could feed me. I never considered it something to do for my pleasure, even if guys were paying to see me come.

Could sex be for my pleasure? It had been two weeks since my last time with Andrew and I did feel an anxious urge. It hadn't been conscious but I couldn't deny my stab of disappointment that he hadn't wanted a final go with me tonight. Did that mean I wanted him? It was hard for me to decipher my own sexual feelings when they weren't guided by another.

I paced my apartment. I made tea that I didn't drink. I changed out of my work clothes and into a loose dress. I forced myself to imagine working for Mr. Katz and even my imaginings of the work was dull.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten after midnight. I was officially free of my obligation to Andrew. But it didn't feel like I was. What would he do when I left? Go back to the brothel all the time? Drink himself blind? And what the hell did I care anyway?

But I did.

I bit my lower lip hard. Then, I slipped into my shoes, hurried to the elevator before I could change my mind, and punched in his code. When I arrived at the top floor, I stared at the door to his penthouse. I had opened it dozens of times in the last months, but I decided this time, I'd probably better knock.

He answered the door looking foul tempered but surprise softened the expression.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

He stepped aside.

His cut glass decanter was half empty on the bar with a sweating glass on the table. I went to it and took a gulp. It was dreadful but calming.

"Maddie?" Andrew asked.

I turned to face him. "Look, you need an assistant."

His face clouded. "Don't make this harder."

"I'm serious. You're a fucking mess."

His lip twitched like he wanted to smile. "You sound like John Katz. You'd work well with him. I'd consider his offer if I was you."

"I don't want to work for John Katz," I said to him. I picked up his glass and brought it to him. "I want to work for you, for a two year contract and big damn raise."

He took it and drank what was left. "What happens when I proposition you, one late evening?"

"I don't know. Maybe I say yes."

He cocked his head and walked a step closer to me before he stopped himself. "Maybe you say yes?"

"Maybe. It's been a couple of weeks since we fucked and I kind of miss it." He just watched me with those blue eyes. "The irony isn't lost on me," I added. I took his glass out of his hand and went to his bar to make him another.

"Do you want something for it?" he asked me. "More education?"

"No. Just the right to say no if I don't want to fuck you." I handed him a fresh drink after I sipped out of it again. "And the right to ask for sex if I do."

"Ask for it?" he said, his amusement now open.

"Like now," I said, the alcohol helping my bravery. "I think I really want to fuck you."

"Really."

"Yes, really."

His pants were loose and I could tell that he was stirring. I placed my hand carefully over him and gently worked him up and down.

"Jesus. Stop." He put his hand over mine and looked at me. "I'm trying to let you go."

"Is that what you want? To let me go?"

"No. It isn't."

"Do I have to be a whore for this to work?" I asked, slowing stimulating him with my hand again. "Can't we just have sex like normal people--because we want to?"

"What happens when you don't want to?" he asked, his voice husky and tense.

"You either live with it or go to the brothel for relief." I undid his pants and worked him skin-to skin. "I'll try not to say no too often. You try to be more charming when you ask."

He smirked. "You want charm, too," he said in a playful grumble.

I nodded to the couch. "Sit."

He sat on the couch, like I told him to, which was a huge turn-on. I took off my dress, which was much nicer than the one I wore at the brothel but the same style. I heard his low moan to see me naked underneath. "Do you want me to blow you?" I asked, my voice playful, too.

"No. I want you to fuck me. And I want to watch you come."

"Yes, Sir." I straddled his lap, found the right angle, and sank down on him, already wet. I rode him up and down very slowly. "That two year contract?" I asked, my voice shaky.

"Done."

"And a raise, too?"

He flexed his hips under me. "I want you to kiss me."

I kissed him from above, which was odd. It was also arousing. I worked myself on him and heard his answering moan even as I felt it against my lips. "Raise. Yes," he whispered against my mouth. "Ten percent more than John's offer, at least."

"We have to be professional at work," I reminded him. He picked up the pace a little and I contracted around him.

"No repeats of two weeks ago," he agreed.

"And I have to be able to say no to sex sometimes. It doesn't mean no forever." 

"Not too often," he said, working harder and driving me upwards.

"Not too often," I agreed, his thrusts making me breathless. I was tightening from deep inside and I wanted to chase the feeling.

"You need it harder," he said, smirking at me.

"I do."

He swung me to the floor. "Open your legs," he instructed. I obeyed and he found a quick and powerful rhythm. My body exploded into orgasm, face to face with him, where he could see me. "Jesus," he moaned, riding me, stiffening, and finally coming with a loud cry of his own.

He exited me, kissing me. "I like this new arrangement. Two years?"

"Yes."

He pulled me to him and held me. I let my arms go around him too and hold him back. I nuzzled his neck. "Once more? In the bed?"

He smirked, picking me up off of the floor. "Just once? You know me better than that, Maddie."

END