Bosses Bull Becoming His Master
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My Boss, My Master (Part 3) - The Meeting free porn video
This story is a work of fiction. Constructive feedback is welcomed, as are suggestions and requests. Leave a comment or send me a message. I don't bite... unless you let me. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I'm going to try to avoid some of the words that xhamster ***'s out, such as f.a.mily, s.i.ster, f.orce, etc, but in places you'll just have to bear with it.
Mr. Smith's private washroom was incredible. The door was so plain, completely unmarked, but on the other side... my bathroom at home was half the size. Marble counter-tops, polished chrome faucets, even a shower stall in the corner with two heads.
On the counter next to the sink was a basket full of women's hygiene supplies and makeup, wrapped up in cellophane like one of those gift baskets. My name was written on a card attached to it, but there was no note. There was a similar card taped to a cupboard next to the sink, which was empty - presumably this was where I was to keep my things.
I didn't have time to appreciate this, however. The moment the door closed behind me, I fell to my knees in front of the toilet. Even the toilet was expensive, one of those Japanese ones with the built-in heated bidet... which I thankfully didn't hit as I choked up a stinging mixture of bile, phlegm and thick white semen.
I knelt there for a minute until my gagging subsided, then picked myself up and moved over to the counter. The toilet flushed itself as soon as I moved away. I used some tissues that were dispensed from a mysterious slot in the wall to dab at my eyes and took stock of myself in the mirror.
I was a mess. I had gone light on the makeup, as was my style, but what I had on was in complete disarray. My mascara had run, my lipstick had smeared, and my cheeks were tear-streaked and desperately in need of powder.
I pulled the ribbon on the plastic around the gift basket. It took a couple tries with my hands still shaking, but it came open and I started pulling things out, looking for supplies to make myself more presentable.
I froze as I realized the quality of the items I was picking up. Chanel, Givenchy, Armani... These were products I'd never even dreamed of wasting my money on. It was incredible. I made a little squealing sound despite my shakiness. I couldn't help it; under everything I am still a girl. I quickly organized the contents into the cupboard and got to work making myself pretty again.
My hair was a mess too, but there were brushes and detangler and styling mousse waiting for me. I was just putting the finishing touches on my bangs when a series of disturbing thoughts occurred to me.
Mr. Smith had spent hundreds - no, thousands of dollars on bathroom products for me. Part of me was aghast at the expense; another part made my heart skip the way it always does when a man gets me a gift. I hate that part of me; she's such a shallow bitch.
Mr. Smith had spent thousands of dollars because he knew I'd need make-up. That meant that he thought my own style was too cheap...
It also meant he probably knew that I'd fail his test. He'd known the moment I'd walked in today - probably even sooner, probably as soon as he hired me - that I'd fail to get him off.
That he'd have to grab my head and push me down, that he'd be fucking my throat...
I wasn't sure how to deal with that information. Had he planned it? Were the memos even real, or was it just a filibuster in order to teach me a lesson, to exercise his power over me?
Was he testing how far I'd go for the exorbitant amount of money he'd offered me?
Did this make me a whore?
Well, yes, I suppose it did... But I wasn't entirely sure I minded that. After all, the money was -incredible-. And Mr. Smith was not bad, as men go... all I had to do was play the part of his obedient plaything, even just for a few months, and I'd be out of debt... after that, I could always quit, right?
"Lucy." I jumped. Mr. Smith's voice was projecting from an intercom in the room somewhere. "Will you come out here, please?"
"Yes, sir," I replied quickly. I had no idea if he should hear me or not, but I thought it was better to err on the side of caution.
When I stepped back into the office, I realized immediately that we were not alone. Sitting across from Mr. Smith's desk was an older man in a dark suit. He had close-cropped hair and very shiny shoes. "This is Mr. Abrams," Mr. Smith announced. "He and I have much to discuss. Please sit in the chair next to him so you can take notes."
Mr. Abrams smiled, showing teeth. "Lucy, right? You can call me Phil." I nodded as I sat down in the chair next to him. it was one without armrests, but I didn't really need those anyway. I leaned forward and retrieved my pen and pad from Mr. Smith's desk.
"So, as I was saying, Phil..." Mr. Smith launched into a conversation that, honestly, I could not follow. It was all business synergy and rightsize actuation. Now and then he or Phil would ask me to make a note of something and I would, word for word, but I really had no idea what most of it meant.
After about ten minutes of this, I started to feel like I was drifting off a little. I was exhausted from the rough treatment and the frantic cleanup in the washroom. I was just about to bite my cheek - it would NOT do to fall asleep on my first day - when something else shocked me aware. It was Phil's hand - rough and clammy - moving to rest on my thigh, fingertips touching my skin below the helm of my skirt.
I jumped and Mr. Smith glared at me. "Lucy, is something wrong?"
He stared at me, and his eyes told me what answer he expected. I swallowed and shook my head. "No... no, sir." I'm sure I looked confused and scared but he nodded and gave me a little smile, then continued on with what he'd been saying.
I kept taking notes, trying not to be distracted by the hand on my thigh. It was moving up and down, and the movement was riding the skirt up. Before long, his palm was on my skin too. I shot another look at Mr. Smith, who met my gaze and nodded.
Phil's hand got bolder as he talked about management retooling, dipping down to my inner thigh and sliding upward. I shivered as I felt this stranger's fingers brush up the front of my silk panties, pressing against me. I had to focus to keep myself from snapping my thighs shut on him.
Think of the money.
Think of the luxury.
Think of the praise.
That praise that I'd missed this morning when I failed Mr. Smith's test. The words that sent lightning up my spine for no understandable reason. Yes, that was worth it, maybe if I did well here it would make up for my failure before...
Phil's callused fingers hadn't stopped as I wandered into my thoughts. They kept rubbing up and down and finally pushed the thin fabric to the side, touching and probing at my lips. The angle was all wrong for him to do much more than that, but it seemed to be all he wanted to do... just to touch and press, fingertips prodding as if he were drawing a map of my privates. He stroken my labia, tapped my clit, even rubbed my little patch of trimmed auburn hair, all the while trading buzzwords and corporate speak with my boss. Neither one of the men so much as glanced at me, except when they wanted something written down.
I started breathing more easily, relaxing a little. This was all that was expected of me? Well, really, that wasn't so bad. It was certainly easy. And if I let my mind drift a little, it almost felt good. What woman doesn't love a soft touch on her most personal parts?
And then, just as I started to feel all warm and tingly inside, it stopped. Mr. Abrams got up and shook Mr. Smith's hand with the hand he'd just been touching me with, then smiled at me and left. I suddenly felt disappointed, then felt myself turn bright red as I noticed my boss's eyes were on me.
I stood quickly, holding my pad and pen defensively in front of my skirt. "I-is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" I stammered.
He smiled, rubbing his palm with his fingers. I realized that he was rubbing moisture in his palm. Moisture that had come from me. My cheeks burned even hotter.
"I see you enjoyed yourself, Lucy."
"No, I- uh... I couldn't help-"
"Come here."
"Yes sir." I bit my lip and walked around to his side of the desk. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, he turned me and pushed me down. My hands took most of the impact against the top of the desk, but it knocked some of the wind out of me. I could feel him behind me, pushing up my skirt, yanking down my panties so hard I heard the seam tear. There was a shuffling sound and I felt his cock press against my slit. I was terrified and excited all at the same time, frozen like a deer in the headlights.
He leaned down over me. I could feel his breath, hot on my neck and cheek, as he spoke.
"Good girl."
I'm going to try to avoid some of the words that xhamster ***'s out, such as f.a.mily, s.i.ster, f.orce, etc, but in places you'll just have to bear with it.
Mr. Smith's private washroom was incredible. The door was so plain, completely unmarked, but on the other side... my bathroom at home was half the size. Marble counter-tops, polished chrome faucets, even a shower stall in the corner with two heads.
On the counter next to the sink was a basket full of women's hygiene supplies and makeup, wrapped up in cellophane like one of those gift baskets. My name was written on a card attached to it, but there was no note. There was a similar card taped to a cupboard next to the sink, which was empty - presumably this was where I was to keep my things.
I didn't have time to appreciate this, however. The moment the door closed behind me, I fell to my knees in front of the toilet. Even the toilet was expensive, one of those Japanese ones with the built-in heated bidet... which I thankfully didn't hit as I choked up a stinging mixture of bile, phlegm and thick white semen.
I knelt there for a minute until my gagging subsided, then picked myself up and moved over to the counter. The toilet flushed itself as soon as I moved away. I used some tissues that were dispensed from a mysterious slot in the wall to dab at my eyes and took stock of myself in the mirror.
I was a mess. I had gone light on the makeup, as was my style, but what I had on was in complete disarray. My mascara had run, my lipstick had smeared, and my cheeks were tear-streaked and desperately in need of powder.
I pulled the ribbon on the plastic around the gift basket. It took a couple tries with my hands still shaking, but it came open and I started pulling things out, looking for supplies to make myself more presentable.
I froze as I realized the quality of the items I was picking up. Chanel, Givenchy, Armani... These were products I'd never even dreamed of wasting my money on. It was incredible. I made a little squealing sound despite my shakiness. I couldn't help it; under everything I am still a girl. I quickly organized the contents into the cupboard and got to work making myself pretty again.
My hair was a mess too, but there were brushes and detangler and styling mousse waiting for me. I was just putting the finishing touches on my bangs when a series of disturbing thoughts occurred to me.
Mr. Smith had spent hundreds - no, thousands of dollars on bathroom products for me. Part of me was aghast at the expense; another part made my heart skip the way it always does when a man gets me a gift. I hate that part of me; she's such a shallow bitch.
Mr. Smith had spent thousands of dollars because he knew I'd need make-up. That meant that he thought my own style was too cheap...
It also meant he probably knew that I'd fail his test. He'd known the moment I'd walked in today - probably even sooner, probably as soon as he hired me - that I'd fail to get him off.
That he'd have to grab my head and push me down, that he'd be fucking my throat...
I wasn't sure how to deal with that information. Had he planned it? Were the memos even real, or was it just a filibuster in order to teach me a lesson, to exercise his power over me?
Was he testing how far I'd go for the exorbitant amount of money he'd offered me?
Did this make me a whore?
Well, yes, I suppose it did... But I wasn't entirely sure I minded that. After all, the money was -incredible-. And Mr. Smith was not bad, as men go... all I had to do was play the part of his obedient plaything, even just for a few months, and I'd be out of debt... after that, I could always quit, right?
"Lucy." I jumped. Mr. Smith's voice was projecting from an intercom in the room somewhere. "Will you come out here, please?"
"Yes, sir," I replied quickly. I had no idea if he should hear me or not, but I thought it was better to err on the side of caution.
When I stepped back into the office, I realized immediately that we were not alone. Sitting across from Mr. Smith's desk was an older man in a dark suit. He had close-cropped hair and very shiny shoes. "This is Mr. Abrams," Mr. Smith announced. "He and I have much to discuss. Please sit in the chair next to him so you can take notes."
Mr. Abrams smiled, showing teeth. "Lucy, right? You can call me Phil." I nodded as I sat down in the chair next to him. it was one without armrests, but I didn't really need those anyway. I leaned forward and retrieved my pen and pad from Mr. Smith's desk.
"So, as I was saying, Phil..." Mr. Smith launched into a conversation that, honestly, I could not follow. It was all business synergy and rightsize actuation. Now and then he or Phil would ask me to make a note of something and I would, word for word, but I really had no idea what most of it meant.
After about ten minutes of this, I started to feel like I was drifting off a little. I was exhausted from the rough treatment and the frantic cleanup in the washroom. I was just about to bite my cheek - it would NOT do to fall asleep on my first day - when something else shocked me aware. It was Phil's hand - rough and clammy - moving to rest on my thigh, fingertips touching my skin below the helm of my skirt.
I jumped and Mr. Smith glared at me. "Lucy, is something wrong?"
He stared at me, and his eyes told me what answer he expected. I swallowed and shook my head. "No... no, sir." I'm sure I looked confused and scared but he nodded and gave me a little smile, then continued on with what he'd been saying.
I kept taking notes, trying not to be distracted by the hand on my thigh. It was moving up and down, and the movement was riding the skirt up. Before long, his palm was on my skin too. I shot another look at Mr. Smith, who met my gaze and nodded.
Phil's hand got bolder as he talked about management retooling, dipping down to my inner thigh and sliding upward. I shivered as I felt this stranger's fingers brush up the front of my silk panties, pressing against me. I had to focus to keep myself from snapping my thighs shut on him.
Think of the money.
Think of the luxury.
Think of the praise.
That praise that I'd missed this morning when I failed Mr. Smith's test. The words that sent lightning up my spine for no understandable reason. Yes, that was worth it, maybe if I did well here it would make up for my failure before...
Phil's callused fingers hadn't stopped as I wandered into my thoughts. They kept rubbing up and down and finally pushed the thin fabric to the side, touching and probing at my lips. The angle was all wrong for him to do much more than that, but it seemed to be all he wanted to do... just to touch and press, fingertips prodding as if he were drawing a map of my privates. He stroken my labia, tapped my clit, even rubbed my little patch of trimmed auburn hair, all the while trading buzzwords and corporate speak with my boss. Neither one of the men so much as glanced at me, except when they wanted something written down.
I started breathing more easily, relaxing a little. This was all that was expected of me? Well, really, that wasn't so bad. It was certainly easy. And if I let my mind drift a little, it almost felt good. What woman doesn't love a soft touch on her most personal parts?
And then, just as I started to feel all warm and tingly inside, it stopped. Mr. Abrams got up and shook Mr. Smith's hand with the hand he'd just been touching me with, then smiled at me and left. I suddenly felt disappointed, then felt myself turn bright red as I noticed my boss's eyes were on me.
I stood quickly, holding my pad and pen defensively in front of my skirt. "I-is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" I stammered.
He smiled, rubbing his palm with his fingers. I realized that he was rubbing moisture in his palm. Moisture that had come from me. My cheeks burned even hotter.
"I see you enjoyed yourself, Lucy."
"No, I- uh... I couldn't help-"
"Come here."
"Yes sir." I bit my lip and walked around to his side of the desk. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, he turned me and pushed me down. My hands took most of the impact against the top of the desk, but it knocked some of the wind out of me. I could feel him behind me, pushing up my skirt, yanking down my panties so hard I heard the seam tear. There was a shuffling sound and I felt his cock press against my slit. I was terrified and excited all at the same time, frozen like a deer in the headlights.
He leaned down over me. I could feel his breath, hot on my neck and cheek, as he spoke.
"Good girl."
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