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I groaned softly as I settled back at my desk, reaching down surreptitiously to massage one of my calves.

"Too many trips to the copier again, Jessica?" My boss asked me sympathetically on her way by with her third cup of coffee.

I heaved a deep sigh, starting to respond, but she was already back through her office door, letting it swing mostly closed as she settled in, sipping her coffee. I shook my head and shifted my massage to my sore feet. It certainly wasn't my fault they installed the copier on the far side of the floor – and it wasn't Diane's fault that she needed things copied a hundred times a day.

I'd been Diane's assistant for not quite a year, on my fifth attempt at finding a steady job in the field. My first boss had been a kindly older man, but his second heart attack had forced his retirement, and there'd been no other job open for me that wouldn't have required more sucking up than I was willing to do. My second boss had tried to convince me that assistants always worked until 3 a.m. Don't get me wrong – I don't mind long hours. I don't have a life for them to interfere with anyway. Still, if I wanted to work eighteen hour days seven days a week, I could have gone to law school – and then I wouldn't be holding down assistant jobs for crap pay and no benefits. The third and fourth jobs...well, the less said about those, the better.

Then I had come to Elsin and Associates, a tiny law firm that consisted of Diane Elsin and her partner, the elderly man whose practice she had taken over. He was near retirement, but apparently didn't like his wife all that much – so a young, ambitious lawyer who could take over his practice while not making him work too hard fit him like a glove.

Diane also had two paralegals who worked for her, but I rarely saw them much. They worked on another floor of the office building where the law firm had its offices, and we shared them with two other such firms, so I basically only knew them as names on interoffice mail envelopes.

Diane Elsin had made a reputation for herself as a trial lawyer in her late twenties and early thirties – now forty years old, she practiced mostly as a trial consultant to larger firms. She still cut quite an imposing figure on the rare occasions she actually went to a trial, though – tall, fit, blonde, long legs, cold blue eyes – she was the very image of a ruthless, bloodsucking lawyer.

I thought she was actually a pretty nice woman, myself – quiet and private about herself, but always composed, with a ready smile. She was also one of the few lawyers I'd met that didn't treat their assistants like slaves – she wasn't one of those fruity saccharine types either. When she asked you to call her Diane, it wasn't patronizing. When she asked you to get coffee for her, it was because she couldn't get it herself at the moment, being stuck on a conference call or coming in a bit late and needing to rush straight to a meeting.

Of course, by this point in my career with her, I'd barely gotten up the courage to call her anything at all. I'm what you'd call the shy type. Very petite from head to toe, short red hair, big green eyes, still far too many freckles across my nose for a girl of twenty-eight, and a body that I worked hard on but seemed capable of attracting attention only from married men a quarter-century older than me. The fact that I hadn't been on a date with a boy since middle school didn't help with that at all. I couldn't even take advantage of it, for crying out loud – I've known I was gay since I was sixteen, when I realized that my masturbatory fantasies hadn't involved a boy in quite some time and weren't likely to any time soon. It hadn't taken very many dates with women to seal things more or less in stone for me. I was lucky, though – I came out in college, my friends were supportive, my mom seemed relieved that I had finally figured it out, and my dad's reaction consisted of one piece of advice: "Just remember, honey, a woman can be just as much of a prick as any man." Thanks, Dad – not bad advice, though.

Diane, on the other hand, was divorced, though I knew little about her life in that respect. I'd heard something about a law professor, but she'd been divorced for years, and certainly didn't talk about her love life with me. She was one of those people who you'd finish telling your life story to and then realize she hasn't said a thing about herself.

So far, my time working for her had consisted entirely of variations on the exchange I just mentioned, though – basic pleasantries, small talk, and the like. We'd had a couple of very pleasant conversations over coffee and bagels, and she took me out to dinner a few times with the rest of the firm to celebrate a particularly big account, so I hesitantly considered us friends – or at least friendly co-workers.

"Jessica?"

I looked up immediately when she called my name, and got up – wincing again at the ache in my feet and ankles – to see what Diane wanted.

She looked up, her Bluetooth phone at her ear and her desk covered with paper. "Jess," she said, muting her phone again, "I can't find those contract copies they sent over last week."

I nodded. "They're filed, I'll get them." I stepped to the corner of her office where her master files were kept, quickly rifling through a couple of drawers. This wasn't unusual – Diane was a very good lawyer, but she preferred to do everything electronically – by email or scan. Paper documents just got in her way, and she had no patience for them. So I kept the files myself, so that she didn't have to worry about keeping track of documents she hated dealing with anyway.

It's funny, looking back – we'd never actually discussed that, but I'd just sort of done it that way without thinking, and she'd never questioned it. In hindsight, that probably should have told me something.

I pulled the file she was looking for, slipping it onto the desk.

"Yes," Diane was saying into the phone, "I've got them right here." She gave me a grateful look. "Yes, you were saying – about the land agreements?" She glanced up at me, and I nodded, flipping the file open and paging to the document she needed. Another thing I did without ever having been asked.

I stayed there for the rest of the call, flipping to this page or that as I tried to follow half a conversation – I'd gotten pretty good at it. Finally, Diane disconnected the call and rolled her eyes.

"Idiot," she muttered. She shook her head, looking at the large crystal clock on her desk. "I've got a meeting in just a few minutes – make sure I'm not disturbed, okay?"

"No problem," I assured her, re-closing the file and returning it to its drawer, slipping out of the office and closing the door behind me.

This was also common. A few times a week, clients – or prospective clients – would come by. Diane's practice depended on these meetings – basically, they were sales pitches. Thus, especially after a call like the one she'd just finished, talking to some annoying mouthpiece somewhere, she'd take a few minutes to relax and get herself together before the meeting, so that she could go in and blow their socks off with the Elsin legal machine. In other words, to make herself look so frighteningly competent and ruthless that the clients just wouldn't be able to imagine winning without her – and more importantly, unable to imagine losing with her.

Believe me, it worked – I'd sat in on a few of these meetings. I wouldn't be surprised if quite a few of her clients didn't hire her just to make absolutely sure their opponents couldn't.

I went back to my desk, sinking gratefully back down into my chair – a large, comfortable, swiveling and tilting thing. Diane spared no expense on the office furniture, something I appreciated greatly after years of being the assistant in the "ergonomic" chair that made me feel like I was ninety years old when I went home at the end of the day.

These quiet times that Diane spent before meetings were private – I'd always stop calls going to her phone, and make anyone who showed up to see her wait. Her office had no windows, not even in the door, and she never talked about it, so I never knew what she did to compose herself for a meeting.

No doubt, had I thought about it, I might have guessed. One of my friends from college became a surgeon – according to him, it's much more common than most people think. Diane did the same thing that any number of surgeons, pilots, athletes, performers, and other high-stress professionals do to relax when they really need to be steady and relaxed – she got herself off. The surge of endorphins and other positive mood-affecting things that orgasm creates are more effective for calm and focus than just about any manmade d**g could ever be – and cheaper, too.

So, this particular day is the day that the inevitable finally happened. A faulty latch on her office door, of all things, changed my life. I heard a slight click, and saw her door inch open, as happens with latches that don't quite fit right anymore. My desk sits just outside her door in our little corner of the floor, so I saw it immediately. Without thinking, I got up to close the door again, and, quite by accident – I swear – glanced in through the two-inch-wide crack of open doorway.

My composed, oh-so-private boss had her chair swiveled sideways and leaned back, one of her long legs up on the desk, and her hand under her skirt. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and her lips slightly parted. If it hadn't been for the visible movement of her hand between her legs – and the death grip her other hand had on the arm of her chair – I might have thought she was asleep.

Now, before anyone judges me prematurely, I did exactly what any good assistant would do. I set a world record for the slowest, quietest closing of a door in the history of mankind, and crept back to my desk, where I sat perfectly still, waiting to see if I woke up. If it hadn't been for my eyes being open wide enough to actually roll out of my head if I'd so much as sneezed, no one walking by would think anything odd had just happened.

Two minutes later, Diane left her office and went to the meeting – head to toe a calm, confident lawyer. Fortunately for me, she didn't look at me as she went – I hadn't managed to get my eyes back to their normal size yet. After a lot of thought, I realized nothing was changed. She obviously hadn't seen me, and nobody else had to know. I could pretend it hadn't happened. All right, so I was naïve.

Days when Diane had meetings took on a whole different perspective for me. She'd close her door for her private time a little before that day's meeting, and I'd suddenly find myself totally incapable of concentrating on anything. I carefully kept from thinking about what she was doing – if I thought about it, I pictured it, and that certainly didn't help.

For the most part, it wasn't even that I was aroused by the whole idea – mostly, I was confused. I'd certainly never felt any particular attraction for Diane. I thought she was gorgeous, of course, but given her history of being straight and her general private attitude – and her being my boss – I'd never looked at her through that particular lens. Slowly, over the weeks that followed, I found ways to excuse thinking about it. I mean, like any single girl, I needed my relaxation too, and since I hadn't had a relationship in a couple of years I can certainly be forgiven if my mind happened to fix on the only sex-related thing to happen to me in a while. If what I saw happened to pop into my head when I was taking care of myself – usually near the end – that's only natural, since my brain had to be seeking any clear image to focus on. This made perfect sense to me, and I resolved not to feel badly about it.

I realized I was in trouble about two months after my accidental spying, when I realized that I had been sitting at my desk, waiting for Diane to come out for a meeting, and had been contemplating ways I might tamper with the door handle to get it to pop open again. I stared at it, willing the door to slip open, and give me just one more glimpse. I told myself that I just needed to see it once more, and that would satisfy the curiosity that had been raging in me.

Finally, after Diane had left for a meeting one day, I went into her office to file some things, and caught sight of something light-colored under her desk. Of course, thinking like the idiot I was that there were some papers that had slipped off the desk, I knelt down to get them – and found myself holding a pair of lacy white panties. Even that might not have been enough to doom me – but then a fragrance caught my nose. A fragrance I had not experienced in far, far too long. I could smell Diane on those panties, and that sensory addition to the image in my head sent a quiver through my breast – and parts beyond – that I hadn't felt in a long, long, time.

The panties were halfway into my pocket before I realized that Diane would probably look for them later. I replaced them under the desk, slunk back out to my own desk, and wondered how long it would take to get the delicious, softly musky-sweet smell of her out of my nose. That night, I found some of the strongest, spiciest food I could at a takeout place and breathed so deep I half-wondered if I were trying to actually scour my sinuses completely down to the bone. After that, I tried to erase the whole thing from my mind – and might have been able to, if not for our upstairs neighbors.

One day, Diane had a meeting scheduled with a huge client – a major downtown firm, the sort that could be a cash cow for our little firm for years, if we made the right first impression and nailed the first job they gave us. Diane had been stressing the meeting for two weeks – she'd been as short-tempered as I'd ever seen her. Her emails to the paralegals got more and more demanding and frustrated, and she wasn't talking to anyone. To top it all off, on the day of the meeting where we expected to be hired – or not – the offices above ours were remodeling their offices. Saws, drills, hammers – you name it.

I was sitting at my desk. The meeting was in five minutes. Diane hadn't come out of her office, and I was worried. I hadn't put two and two together, or anything – don't worry, nowhere in this story is anyone going to accuse me of being terribly perceptive – but I thought that maybe she had fallen asleep...afterwards. That's happened to me several times, so I know how easy it is to drift off after a well-needed orgasm.

I'll never know what I hoped, subconsciously, might be going on, but before I could think, I was up, and knocked lightly on her office door. There was no answer.

I knocked again, slightly harder – still no answer.

So, yes, thinking that I could explain it away if I caught her asleep with her hand up her skirt – or die of embarrassment, whichever – I opened the door.

Diane wasn't asleep. Fortunately for me, she had her eyes closed, and she wasn't listening for the door to open. She was leaned back in her chair, her leg on the desk like before, her hand working furiously. Her head was back, her eyes closed – but her expression wasn't the dreamy look of a woman who has just had an orgasm, or even the straining look of a woman who's very close to one. It was the frustrated, desperate look of a woman who simply cannot quite get there.

I stared at her, thoughts I'll never remember racing through my head – and then the power saw on the floor above screamed again, and she actually groaned in frustration, shaking her head. I realized the problem immediately, having been there many times myself, and my mind slammed into one of those walls that we are all sometimes presented with in our lives.

I had two choices, and just two. If I did the ethical, professional thing and left her alone, I kept my job safe – but we risked losing a huge account, the kind of blow to a reputation from which lawyers sometimes don't recover. Nobody wants to hire the consultant that the big boys didn't think was good enough. If Diane went into that meeting stressed, tired, angry – and now sexually frustrated – and tried to impress a dozen or so veteran male lawyers...

One choice was good for me. One might be good for her. Again, it was probably one of those hints that I chose the one that was good for her and potentially disastrous for me, but...oh well. My brain, I fully admit, was turned off. Diane was the best boss I had ever had, and I dared to think of her as a friend. I had to help her – and I only knew one way to do that.

I walked into her office, closed the door very softly, walked around her desk – and before she even knew I was there, I knelt down, carefully not touching her, leaned in, and just ran my tongue over and between her desperately moving fingers.

I have no doubt that, had she not been as close as she was, as desperate as she was, or as frustrated as she was, I would have either been kicked in the face, fired, arrested, sued, or all of the above. However, Diane was way too close for that. Her fingers, like the rest of her, froze at the first touch of my tongue, in shock – but I didn't waste any time. The flat of my tongue pushed her fingers aside, stroked over her clit, and started to flutter – that was all it took. What her fingers could not accomplish, thanks to stress and a power saw, my warm, wet, soft tongue, combined with surprise, managed beautifully.

Her frozen shock turned directly into rigidity, and her body locked up tight. I felt her spasm, heard a deep gasp, and then my mouth was flooded with the sweet, tangy taste of her. Her breathing stopped for a good fifteen seconds as the spasms continued, and then she went limp with a sigh of suddenly released breath.

I licked her gently through her orgasm, and stopped when she relaxed. I leaned back on my knees, glancing up at her face – I'll never know how I had the courage to do that.

Her head was still back, but her eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling. Her lips were parted, her breathing still shaky. She slowly raised her head to look at me, and those cold blue eyes were wide with shock, her face still flushed from her orgasm.

I couldn't bear to meet that gaze, so I licked my lips clean, stood up – without touching her – and walked out of her office, opening the door and closing it behind me as though nothing at all had happened.

I knew two things for sure at that point – I would need a new job, and I would never forget what she tasted like.

Two minutes later, exactly the time at which the meeting was scheduled to start, Diane opened her door and walked past me without a glance, striding off to the meeting.

I figured I now had until the meeting ended to pack up my things and run for my life, but I couldn't make myself move. Belatedly, I thought about the pussy that I had just licked, my mind whirling to process the sensory data, since I had not gotten a clear look, as absurd as that seemed. Soft, downy blonde hair, trimmed pleasantly close. Velvety soft, warm skin. That sweetly tangy scent that I knew would haunt my dreams. A taste that made me want nothing more in the world than one more lick.

I sat there dumbly, reliving the experience over and over in my head, wishing I had an office with a door, for a long time, unable to move or think clearly. My thoughts waffled constantly between shock at what I had just done, fear of my career ending, and an arousal that had me throbbing and squirming in my chair.

"Jessica?" The sound of my name brought my head up with a jerk. I looked up – into cold blue eyes, staring down at me.

She looked at me and I looked at her, and it was crystal clear that neither of us knew what the hell to say.

"We got the account," she said finally.

I managed a smile that I'm sure was downright ghastly from the other side. "That's wonderful. Congratulations."

She nodded slowly. "I'm...going home for the day – I think I need a little vacation." She looked around uncomfortably – it was the first time I can ever remember having seen her looking awkward. "Finish up the paperwork for the week while I'm gone...I'll see you on Monday."

I tried my best not to let my chin hit the desk. I wasn't fired? "Of course," I finally stammered. "Have a good vacation."

I wasn't deluding myself – she wasn't inviting me to keep doing anything, she was just a decent enough person not to fire me for trying to help, no matter how inappropriate what I had done had been. By the time she came back on Monday, I had beaten myself up enough over the whole thing to be committed to acting as though it had never happened, and Diane seemed to want to pretend the same. That was fine with me. I never wanted to feel that awful sinking feeling again – that feeling that you've just totally screwed up your life.

Nevertheless, life went more or less back to normal after that. Our interactions were polite and professional, and we slowly lost the awkwardness around each other, moving back to where we could smile and make small talk without feeling like fools.

Eventually, I convinced myself that Diane had practically forgotten all about it. I, of course, had not. Diane now featured prominently in my fantasies, no matter how hard I tried to change that. I had never really been attracted to an older woman before, though Diane hardly looked forty. I'm sure the danger of the whole occurrence helped with the eroticism of it for me, but I just couldn't help myself. Every night, I writhed on my own fingers, tasting and smelling and feeling Diane against my lips, again and again.



***

"Jessica?" Her voice sounded urgent.

I rose from my desk, hurrying into Diane's office.

She looked up, muting her phone. "Did we ever hear back from that appraiser guy? I need his figures."

"I don't think so," I answered, "let me check the mail stack again." I rushed out and down the hall to the mail desk, checking out box, but there was nothing new. I headed back to Diane's office.

"No, I'm telling you," she was saying angrily into her phone, "she can't sign the settlement until the appraiser confirms those numbers. I'm not going to advise anyone to sign it blind, and neither are her attorneys." She looked up at me hopefully, but I shook my head. She gritted her teeth, mouthing several things she couldn't say aloud.

"No," she said again into the phone, "you're not listening to me...we can't...yes...no...well, that might be possible. Will he agree to that?" Then her eyes widened. "On their way? You can't be serious. I can't advise..."

I waited attentively, in case she needed anything else. I found my eyes drifting to the chair behind her where she stood at her desk, the memories burning through my brain.

Suddenly I realized she was signaling to me. I straightened.

"Yes," she was saying, "we can be ready by then. Our conference room will be fine. No, it's their call whether or not to call in the client. Yes. Fine." She hung up, growling in annoyance.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"The ass wants to change the deal," she sighed, plopping down into her chair and rubbing her forehead. "They put together a new agreement, they want my opinion of it, and they're already on their way – we're meeting downstairs in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" I said, taken aback.

"I know, damn it," she growled. "I hate last minute meetings."

"Will you be ready?" I asked. Dimly, some part of my brain sensed an opportunity. "The client will be there, it sounded like."

"Yes," she said, suddenly worried. "They're coming along – and they weren't too happy the last time."

I smiled a little nervously. "Do you have everything you need?"

She sighs, leaning her head back in her chair, obviously displeased. "More or less."

Something in my brain told me that it was now or never, and I couldn't stop myself. Not looking at her, I stepped around the desk and took the arm of her chair, swiveling it toward me. She stared at me in surprise as I knelt down, gripping her wrists where they laid on the armrests, and held them down.

"Jessica, what..."

Still unable to look up at her, I leaned in, my head pushing her skirt up.

"Are you crazy?" She gasped. "Jessica, I can't..."

Again dimly, some part of my brain registered only that she did not tell me to stop. Before she could say anything else, my lips were nibbling on her through her panties, my warm breath washing over her. I heard her gasp, her arms flexing under my grip as she tried to squirm away, but I was past rational thought. Holding her wrists firmly, I gave her panty-covered pussy a long, firm lick, and then another, feeling her soft outer lips opening under my tongue, which wriggled, seeking out the spot within that I hoped would obliterate her resistance.

"Jessica," she gasped again, "please, you can't..." She cut off with a surprised little noise as my tongue found her clit, lashing it through the material, and she shuddered deeply, her arms relaxing momentarily – just long enough for me to release one of her arms, pull her panties aside, and burrow my tongue into the pussy that I had been dreaming about for weeks. I immediately lost myself in the sweet, silky velvet of her slit under my tongue, the heat of the opening into her body, and the way she trembled as my tongue eagerly explored her soft folds.

"It's okay," I lifted my tongue long enough to murmur, and before she could respond, lashed my tongue over her bare clit, feeling the now-erect little nub under my tongue. The moment I felt it, I let my tongue flutter, knowing exactly what that sensation feels like, knowing that no woman I'd ever met can pull away from anything that feels that good. Whatever Diane had been about to say was lost in a choked gasp as she wriggled nearly off the chair, her body squirming wildly. I chanced a look up at her now, and reveled in the chest heaving with anxious, excited breaths, the wide eyes once again staring upwards at the ceiling.

My tongue slowed, giving her gentle, luxurious licks, I felt her shudder again...and her eyes drifted closed. I exulted, my own arousal throbbing within me as I burrowed my tongue deeper, swirling it lightly around her clit and then dipping it inside her, holding in a moan as her sweet tangy flavor coated my tongue. Her body relaxed slightly. I didn't know whether she had stopped struggling out of arousal, or just thought it was pointless, or whether she was just that desperate to come before her meeting. I didn't know – and at this point, I didn't care.

I ran my tongue from the top of her slit to the bottom, rubbing it from side to side, exploring every little nook and cranny of her pussy, finding sensitive spots aplenty to judge by her shaky breathing and little gasps of pleasure. I knew that I could do this forever, if she allowed it – but I also knew I had a time limit. I let my tongue slide deep inside her, almost moaning again at the heady flavor of her, her scent filling my head and my mind, and then swirled my now-slippery tongue over her clit, slowly accelerating the motion. My lips gently sucked the little bead into my mouth as my tongue vibrated on the tip, and I felt her hips lift off the chair before she jerked, grunting softly and gasping for breath.

Her hips jerked several times, twitching, and I drank deeply of her nectar, my eyes closed and my hands only resting on her arms. Finally, she relaxed with a deep shudder, her body going totally limp, her breathing suddenly deep and labored.

I gently licked her clean, easing her panties back into place, and sat back, licking my lips clean, my eyes own wide with a kind of shock that I had actually gotten the chance to taste her again. My legs were actually trembling, and I knew that if I so much as grazed my own pussy right then, I would come too. I rose slowly to my feet, my eyes lingering on her splayed, relaxed body.

"I'll call down to the conference room that you're on your way," I said slowly, my voice a little hoarse, and turned to leave her office.

"Jessica," I heard her say slowly, and I stopped, hearing no anger in her tone.

I waited.

"You didn't think...I expected that, did you?" I couldn't identify her tone.

I slowly turned around, meeting her eyes with an effort. "No. I thought that you needed it. I was just..." I swallowed. "Doing what I thought would help the most."

Diane just stared at me, and I finally turned and left her office. I sat down at my desk and bent over some work, shading my eyes with one hand. She walked past my desk a few minutes later without a word, on her way to the meeting.

***

Later that day, to my surprise, Diane came and talked with me about the meeting as though nothing had happened, and she seemed determined to pretend that it had not – though her question had left me wondering how she really felt. I knew that she had enjoyed it – and now, I wondered if she had protested because she had not wanted me to do it, or if she had protested because she thought I felt obligated to pleasure her. I desperately feared the first – I longed to prove her wrong on the second.

"Jess," she said to me a few days later as she arrived, "pull all the files on the Davis account for me – I'm meeting with them at noon."

My heart skipped a beat or two, but I just nodded. "No problem." I followed her into her office, found the files, and left them on her desk. She nodded thanks, still unpacking her laptop and chugging her coffee, and I headed back to my desk.

The morning proceeded as usual – I answered a few calls, ordered her lunch to be sent up after the meeting was over, all the normal things an administrative assistant does. Then, at about twenty minutes to noon, I heard her hang up her phone, and she poked her head out the door.

"Hey, Jessica, call me when the clients get here, all right?"

"Sure," I replied, watching her close her office door. My heart accelerated about three times over.

I had a dilemma here. I could keep trying to surprise her, but sooner or later, she was going to react badly to that. I could never mention it again – but I couldn't even bear to think of that. She was all I could think about.

I knew that she wouldn't be...relaxing...until about five or ten minutes before the meeting. I figured I could take one shot...make some kind of indirect offer. If my...help...were unwelcome, then no doubt she'd still want to have given me a definitive "stop" at some point. This would give her an opportunity to do that, and then we could go back to being boss-employee. If it wasn't unwelcome...

I rose from behind my desk, walked to the door, and considered knocking, but then just opened it, slipping inside and closing the door behind me before turning to her. She looked up in surprise – she hadn't been doing anything yet, apparently flipping through a few notes before the meeting. I locked my eyes on hers – those beautiful blue eyes – and put everything on the line.

"Aren't you going to turn your chair to the side?" I asked softly.

She stared at me, her mouth open to speak, and she closed it slowly. "Jessica..."

I stepped forward to her desk, keeping my eyes on hers. "Just turn your chair, Diane. Let me help."

She blinked, shaking her head slowly. "Jessica, look...I'm not..."

I licked my lips, and she stopped talking. My heart leapt again. "All you have to do," I said even more slowly, in a voice barely above a whisper, "is turn your chair. It's okay."

She stared back at me, suddenly biting her lip in an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty. I stepped around the edge of her desk, and her head turned to follow me. I noticed that the collar of her blouse was rising and falling a little rapidly. The rest of her turned to follow me, and I stepped closer, keeping my eyes on hers. To be honest, I couldn't look away. The mix of emotions I saw in her eyes confused, frightened, and intrigued me, but I just couldn't look away.

I knelt down, and gently raised her leg on to her desk, holding her gaze, leaning forward, waiting for the definitive sign.

Finally, I got it. She watched me expressionlessly for a long moment, and then slowly closed her eyes, leaning her head back.

I almost whimpered with excitement and relief, and slid closer between her legs. I reached up to grasp the band of her panties – a set just like the lacy pair I once found under her desk – and helped her lift her hips to slide them gently down, noting the tremble in her legs as I did so.

I think both of us were holding our breaths when my mouth settled on her again – she let out a long sigh, and I could not help a soft moan.

She was very quiet as my tongue explored her all over again – she did not moan or whimper, but I was able to read her reactions from the little gasps and tiny sighs she gave. I searched with relish and found with glee the spots that made her tremble, the spots that made her gasp, and the ones that made her draw in her breath as though to moan for more.

I felt her shudder when my tongue slid inside her velvety, slick pussy, and I settled my mouth on her fully, my lips teasing and caressing her slit as my tongue delved deeper still, seeking the taste to which I was already hopelessly addicted.

I started gently stroking my tongue in and out of her, letting it swirl against her opening each time I pushed it in, feeling her slick channel grip it each time I withdrew. My lips slurped softly at her, coaxing more and more nectar onto my tongue. As my tongue thrust achingly in and out, I realized that she was gripping the arms of her chair, almost hard enough to make her knuckles white. Her free leg, the one not raised onto her desk, was twitching slightly, her silky thigh brushing my cheek. I couldn't help leaning my face into it a little, and digging my tongue even deeper to make that leg quiver.

I was detecting now what I had hoped to hear – not just pleasure, but surprise. Surprise at some of what I was doing. I wanted to shake my head in dismay. This was a woman who badly needed to meet someone who really knew how to eat her – and I would be happy to show her what one woman can do to another.

I slowly drew my tongue out of her, let it teasingly drift up over her clit, and then softly fastened my lips around it, drawing it lightly into my mouth and pressing my tongue against it.

She gasped loudly. "Oh, god," I heard her whisper very softly as her hips jerked.

I sucked her gently, tantalizing the sensitive bud, then begin stroking it with my tongue, up and down, side to side, then in continuous, swirling circles that brought her slowly but surely to orgasm, opening my mouth wide as I felt her arch up and stiffen so that I could taste her fully. My tongue stroked her creamy slit as she shuddered and twitched, and dipped into her as she relaxed to retrieve as much of her sweetness as I could.

She finally went limp, breathing fast and light. I sat back again, gently sliding her panties back on. As I did, I very lightly kissed her thigh, but I don't think she even noticed, lost in the haze of her orgasm.

She sat up slowly, still breathing fast, and looked at me, wide-eyed.

I smiled, knowing what I had to say. "Anything else you need before your meeting?"

Diane stared at me, took a deep breath, and managed a shaky smile in return. "No, that will be all, Jessica. Thank you."

I left her office, my heart thumping. I was in way over my head, but there was no way I was stopping now.

***

From then on, our work routine was somewhat changed. Work in general was the same, certainly, but each time Diane had a meeting, I would go into her office a half hour or so ahead of the scheduled time. The first few times, she tried protesting, but her protests never lasted, and within a minute or two, I would have her trembling under my tongue.

I noticed, though, that she still did not moan or cry out at any time, and she did her best to stay still, barely reacting to most of my attentions, her body showing her pleasure often only at orgasm. I think, somewhere deep down, she convinced herself that it was all right to essentially use an employee's tongue in this way if that's all it was – her assistant helping her relax before big meetings. While I certainly loved doing what I was doing – there were times that I felt I could almost come just from licking her, especially when I felt her tense up and release onto my tongue – I wanted more and more of her. I continued, somehow, to deny my growing feelings for her, but I determined that I was going to pleasure her to the greatest possible extent, not just be a disembodied tongue.

The next time that I was "helping" her, as I slowly slid my tongue up and down her moist slit, listening to her soft, even breathing and little gasps each time I passed over her clit, I made sure she was close to orgasm, trembling, her legs tense. Then I touched her with my hands for the first time, lightly running my fingertips up the insides of her thighs. I was rewarded with a startled gasp. I was dimly aware that she had raised her head at the contact, but I just flattened my palms on her thighs, massaging her warm, silky flesh as my tongue burrowed deeper, and drove her to orgasm before she could react in any particular way to my touch.

When I finished, I gave no indication that I had done anything different.

I progressed slowly thereafter, starting with caressing her thighs and hips while I pleasured her, and gradually progressing to holding her hips while I made love to her pussy with my mouth. After the first time or two, it even seemed that she was anticipating the touches – when I would touch her, she would always react, with a little gasp or a little shiver or an increase in her breathing. If I only touched her when she was already close to coming, it would set her off almost immediately.

Sometimes, as I ate her, I was amazed at what we had and hadn't done. I had never touched her above the waist – I had never even seen her close to naked. I had not fingered her at all, nor touched her ass. I had made her come, jerking and twitching against my tongue, many times, but had never kissed her.

Finally, one day while I was happily burrowed between her smooth thighs and her head was slowly rolling side to side, her breath coming in pleasured little gasps, I caressed her hips, feeling her shudder with the added arousal, but then I backed off, my tongue barely touching her. At first, she just relaxed, but then I dove in again, caressing her hips as my tongue slid deep – to which she reacted with something almost like a whimper – and then backing off again. This time, I got the reaction I wanted. She lifted her hips slightly, instinctively seeking the source of her pleasure, arching her hips out in need. I immediately rewarded her by drawing her clit into my mouth and slurping it slowly, achingly, letting her shudder, her hips lifted off the chair.

The moment she started to relax, I backed off again, and made her reach for me, or would press my tongue against her but not move it – essentially forcing her to move and seek her own pleasure. Her arousal battled her self-control and won – within a few minutes, I had her rocking and bucking her hips against my mouth, lost in the pleasure of it. When she came, it was intense, with her hips bucking her slick, clasping pussy up and down on my tongue, almost riding it, while her breath escaped her in tiny involuntary grunts, her hands clutching the arms of her chair as I held her creamy, jerking hips.

We continued in this way for almost three months – I would spend a half hour before any meeting with my arms wrapped around her hips, holding her up off her chair and letting her thrust and buck against my mouth as I slowly licked and tongued her out of her mind. I was in heaven – a gorgeous, sexy, wonderful woman was almost dependent on me for pleasure. I was fairly sure I was her only source of orgasm at this point – from her reactions to my touches, I don't think she was pleasuring herself at all anymore. If she hadn't had a meeting in a couple of weeks, she would often come within only a minute or two.

However, the emotional quandary continued. I wondered whether I had feelings for this woman – and if I did, what I should do about it. If I tried to change our arrangement into a romantic relationship, I risked losing everything. I was fairly sure that the dichotomy between our relationship and our physical intimacy was getting to Diane as well – whenever I would slip into her office, she would look at me with a mix of anticipation, desire, and an odd sort of confusion, as if she was not sure how she should emotionally react to my presence anymore.

Eventually, the question was answered for me. We reached a tipping point one afternoon. Diane had a meeting scheduled over dinner with not one, but two clients, and I slipped into her office almost a full hour before Diane had to leave for the restaurant. She seemed surprised to see me that early, but she turned her chair nonetheless and willingly surrendered her pussy to me. I loved the first sigh she gave when my mouth touched her. It was a sigh of pleasure, of relief, and of a satisfied anticipation, as if she really did look forward to these sessions.

This time, though, I had decided, I was going to take my time. I deliberately avoided her clit – no matter how much her hips reached for me or how much she tried to twist herself to get contact there, I kept from touching it, running my tongue over her lips, sucking and nibbling at them, and then swirling my tongue around her opening without entering, tantalizing her. After almost fifteen minutes of this exquisite torture, she actually surrendered to it, letting her body relax and just enjoy the gentle, restrained caresses of my mouth. I used my whole mouth, my lips and tongue and even my teeth, lightly nipping at sensitive flesh, teasing her until she was just breathing deeply and shaking ever so slightly, all of her willpower going into not pleading with me to pleasure her more directly.

I dipped the tip of my tongue into her ever so slightly, and heard her catch her breath. Then I withdrew, swirling around her opening, and dipped in again without warning, again barely entering. Another little gasping breath, her hips quivering. I waited a long moment until I felt her hips lift, and then licked her opening firmly, not entering, and felt her jerk, a tiny whimper escaping her. I looked up at her face – her head was lolled back, her mouth open, her eyes shut, her body totally relaxed other than her somewhat tense hips. I smiled, swirling my tongue around her a few more times to hear her gasp, and then, in one long, slow, firm thrust, buried my tongue inside her, wiggling and squirming it against her inner walls.

"Oh..."

I drew my tongue out at that, looking up in surprise and eagerness, and swirled my tongue a few more times, lashing it against her opening, tapping sensitive little crevices here and there, until I heard that tiny little whimper again. Then I plunged my tongue as deeply as I could, swirling it inside her.

"Oh, yess..."

I almost moaned at the exclamation from her, and found the sound so wonderful after all the months of listening to her silence that I pulled my tongue out again, hearing her whimper immediately in protest. I proceeded then to tease her unmercifully for five full minutes, caressing her outer lips with my tongue and lips, stroking the hood of her clit with my upper lip but never her clit itself, my tongue tantalizingly circling her opening time after time. To my delight, though, her body stayed relaxed, letting me keep control. Finally, I fluttered my tongue at her entrance, drew another whimper from her, and then, lifting her hips slightly, sank it deeper than ever into her body, my lips caressing her slit from top to bottom as I filled her with my tongue.

"Oh, Jessie..." She moaned out.

This time, I did moan. Everyone in my life called me Jess or Jessica. I hadn't been Jessie to anyone since kindergarten. To hear a real endearment on her lips...I had to hear it again.

My tongue teased, darted, swirled – and then lashed her clit, lightly but continuously, driving her almost up out of her chair.

"Oh, my god," she moaned. I slid my tongue down her slit and inside her again. She moaned.

I was like a c***d with a toy – I did anything that I could think of to make her moan again and again for me, and even though sometimes I sensed her trying to hold them in, she seemed to have surrendered too deeply to stop herself. I started taking her toward her delayed orgasm, fluttering my tongue intermittently on her clit, in between slow, searching thrusts inside her. I made the touches lighter and lighter, almost not touching her at all, feeling her hips rise into the air, and then fastened my mouth to her, sucking deep but gentle on her clit, lashing it with my tongue.

"Oh! Oh, god...oh, god, Jessie..." Her exclamation trailed off into a long, shuddering silence, and then an outright squeal as she climaxed deeply, flooding my mouth with her sweetness. She would have bucked right out of my arms if I hadn't been holding her tightly.

"Oh, Diane," I whispered into her pussy as she relaxed – so softly that I don't think she could hear me. I massaged her trembling hips and thighs as she slumped, splayed open and totally limp in her chair.

***

We definitely seemed to have passed some sort of barrier after she first moaned my name. We both apparently realized that, whatever the complicated emotional underpinning, what we were doing was extremely pleasurable, and didn't seem to be harming either of us. When we worked, we were as we always had been – friendly and professional. When I was between her legs...now, she voiced her pleasure, if with restraint, moaning and whimpering, occasionally squealing when I did something she especially liked. Her moans of my name – especially the diminutive form of it that I loved to hear from her lips – were still rare and precious when I earned them.

Much of the time, Diane would lie back in her chair with her free leg over my shoulder and her other leg up on her desk, and I would take my time pleasuring her while slowly running my hands over her legs and her hips as much as I liked – which was a lot. She loved when I massaged her feet with my hands while I massaged her clit with my tongue. She squealed the first time I cupped her ass and let her thrust herself to orgasm on my tongue entirely on her own.

She definitely was giving in to the entire process in other ways, too. More and more often I would arrive for one of our sessions only to find her panties already gone, or would feel her press her leg against my hand or arch her hips to my touch without my having to guide her. She would signal me with her sounds when she wanted something – if I was teasing her too much, or she wanted contact somewhere else, she would guide me with whimpers or movements of her body.

On one rare occasion when she needed me to work on a Saturday because of a meeting she was having at a local church picnic, of all things, she actually wore a dress to the office – the first time I had seen her in anything but a skirt and blouse. This, of course, provided me an incredible opportunity. With her dress up around her waist, her creamy hips and thighs totally bare to my hands and her body laid back comfortably, I took the opportunity to explore not only her flat stomach – and much enjoyed feeling the quivers and tension in the muscles there – but slid my hands up higher, and for the first time, touched her breasts. They were soft and silky smooth, and their weight felt perfect in my hands.

The first time I touched them, she gasped, arching against my hands, but her hips pulled back with a hint of nervousness. I almost laughed at the idea of a woman who had my tongue buried inside her being nervous about me touching her breasts. I drew my hands back, exploring her torso, and my tongue soon encouraged her to writhe against my hands. I returned to her breasts, gently massaging them, and, already close, she arched, whimpering loudly. When I tugged softly at her nipples, it was enough to push her over the edge, and I luxuriated in the feel of her nearly bare body bucking under my hands.

Now, we had found entirely new territory to explore. Within a few more sessions, even in her usual blouse and skirt, Diane would be laying with her blouse open, her bra and panties gone, and her body exposed to my ceaseless caresses, giving her body entirely over to me to drive to higher and higher pleasure.

All along this path we were treading, though, I never once suggested or at all hinted that I wished her to return the favor – indeed, we both seemed to shy away from any possibility of that ever happening. I dressed conservatively to work, and she made sure that her body did not brush mine in any way that might be taken as a returned caress. Both of us seemed fearful to cross that boundary, knowing that if she ever returned the pleasure I had given her, we would be lovers in truth.

Even now, I am not sure why I feared that so – perhaps even the threat of losing such a lovely, albeit incomplete, relationship was enough. Perhaps it was something else. I doubt I'll ever know.

***

It was inevitable, I suppose, that despite our enjoyment of our "arrangement", something would interfere and finally give our emotions a real chance to complicate things.

I sat at my desk, typing out a series of memos and emails to different people on my daily contact sheet. Diane's last meeting had been a few days ago. We had become a great team – with my help, she had been dominating meetings even more than usual, and the firm had picked up so much business that we were seriously contemplating expanding the firm entirely – though Diane had seemed hesitant to expand, since she really didn't need to work the ridiculous hours that most lawyers do.

Firing off another email, I glanced at my inbox and saw that another email had just arrived – one from an address I didn't recognize. Opening it with a frown, I saw a long series of short messages – apparently, I had been accidentally included on an email string. This happens frequently in any office, of course, so I went indifferently to delete it, but then a single word in one of the replies caught my eye – my name.

Unable to help myself, I scrolled curiously back through the chain of messages.



- I received your quote for the renovations. Can you refer me to a legal employment agency to fill out my staff?

That message was from Diane. The next was from an address I didn't recognize, but was signed with a name I did recognize – the owner and operator of the building in which Diane's offices were located. Apparently, Diane had inquired about the costs of expanding our firm, complete with office renovations and new staff.

- Easily – the firm in the offices above yours just completed their renovations, and hired some new staff. They mentioned that they were very happy with their new staff – I've used the same staffing agency myself. They can supply all the paralegals you might need, and a truly qualified legal assistant.

I stopped in surprise, glaring a bit at the message. What did he mean, "truly qualified"? I was fine at my job, and Diane had certainly never complained. Far from it, I thought with a tiny smirk.

- It would be nice to have some of my own paralegals, for a change – sharing them can get pretty annoying. I'll definitely need some help finding at least one assistant who actually knows her stuff – the last two I've had in here had terrible recommendations, and the most recent one couldn't type her way out of a paper bag.

I stopped again – this time, in shocked dismay. I couldn't believe that Diane would really think that about me. She had always seemed pleased with my work, and had complimented me several times – she even seemed grateful to have an assistant she could work well with.

My almost nerveless hand hit the delete button, and the offending email vanished instantly. I shivered, staring blankly at the screen. How could she think...how could she fake all that? Why?

Some part of me, the logical part, maybe, thought that it might be a misunderstanding. Maybe she meant the girl before me – from what I'd heard, she hadn't lasted long.

Of course, I couldn't deny that the law was no specialty of mine. I had picked up bits and pieces, certainly, but I had no formal training or education in legal matters. Law school had never been a financially viable option for me.

I slumped in my chair. Maybe Diane did need a real legal assistant. After all, if she were going to expand her practice, she'd need a full staff, maybe even a partner or two, and assistants who could offer their own legal insights, not just a glorified secretary like me.

I worked for the rest of the day in something like a dream, going mechanically through the motions of my emails and memos, copying down meeting minutes, barely paying attention to what I was doing. I made sure to leave before Diane finished for the night so that I wouldn't have to speak to her, not trusting myself.

Half of me felt as though what was happening was only inevitable – good things usually came to an abrupt end before they should, in my experience. The other half felt angry. I found myself questioning everything that had happened. I wondered whether Diane had ever even really liked me, or if had just tolerated me. Whether she truly enjoyed what I had been doing to her, or whether she had just used me.

That night, though, as I climbed into bed, I could not stop the fantasies returning to me. As my fingers began to tease along my slit, I could not help but imagine the heaven I had found again and again with her, with the taste of her, the sound of her ecstasy and the feel of her skin on my face and mouth while I savored her. I writhed under my hand, and reached my first climax quickly, gasping and shaking. I lay still, eyes closed, Diane's beauty in my eyes and her moans in my ears.

Then I recalled the words I had read, and my anger returned. The memory of her soft, pleasured moans returned – but now the sounds were harsh, cynical, somehow soured. That delicious surrender in her body as she relaxed each time beneath my questing tongue turned into something else – something accompanied by a smug laugh, the sense of getting something that one wants, not a true desirous surrender.

I bit my lip, my anger increasing until I was nearly in tears – and I found my fingers moving again, this time fast and hard, almost grinding into my sensitive skin. The pleasure came in waves, harsh jolts up my spine and through my stomach, tightening it until it nearly burned. I grimaced, digging two fingers into myself. Instead of savoring the memories, I cursed at them now, glowering at the image of my boss that floated before my confused mind.

For a few brief moments, I hated her. Hated this confusion, this sick fear that was choking me.

"Damn you, Diane!" I gasped, growling as I arched up off my bed with my second orgasm, this one hard and sharp, wrenching my spine and causing my legs to spasm so hard that they immediately began to cramp. I curled up immediately on my bed in a fetal position, the pain mingling with my still-fading pleasure.

Finally, I relaxed, the cramps dying out and my breathing returning to normal.

It was so frustrating – I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be furious, to storm into her office and quit – or even show her what I knew about the law. Maybe trap her in some kind of situation where I could sue her, make her pay for this pain I was feeling.

I wanted so badly just to give over to that fear and anger.

But I couldn't. I couldn't hate her. I know now, of course, why I couldn't hate her – some people can hate someone they're in love with, but I'm just not built that way. I didn't realize that at the time, though. The bizarre arrangement, the strange story of our relationship had walled my feelings off deep inside myself and hidden them under layers of fear, self-delusion – and an honest wish not to hurt Diane, or make her life more complex or difficult than it needed to be.

At almost any other time in my life, I would have probably just quit my job and drained my savings account on therapy trying to figure out how I had botched things so badly. This time, though, I couldn't just walk away. I'd stick around long enough to find out what Diane had meant. If she didn't want me around, then so be it.



***

"Jessica, could you come in here?"

I looked up, and for the first time, I didn't just get up and go in. "What's going on?" I called back.

There was a brief pause. "I need to prepare for my three o'clock."

I glanced at my clock. Barely two. "Now?" I asked.

"Now?" She sounded surprised. "Um, yes, now."

I bit my lip. I almost said no – I swear, I almost said it. I didn't, though, of course. I couldn't help myself. "Coming," I called back.

In her office, I closed the door, and looked at her, my heart twisting all over again at those beautiful cold blue eyes staring across the desk at me, though they seemed surprised and concerned at the moment.

"Is something wrong, Jessica?" Diane asked.

I opened my mouth to shout at her – but, again, of course, I didn't. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Good," she said slowly, still looking concerned.

I knew there was still an hour before the meeting, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to pleasure her for that long the way I felt now...I'd break in two from sheer emotional trauma. I resolved to make it quick – to just get her off and be done with it. Some part of me tried to be clinical, calm, and indifferent. Do it fast, I told myself flatly. Get her to come and she'll leave you alone.

I stepped around her desk, and she turned to meet me. I saw the slight widening of her eyes, the little break in her lips, but my flat thoughts dismissed what I saw. Just lust, I thought. She needs it, no question – that doesn't mean she has any feelings for me. You're just a walking vibrator at this point, I told myself brutally.

I knelt down, slid up her skirt, pulled her panties down – just a bit roughly, I'll admit – and slid my mouth back against her again. She sighed, and I quivered, almost breaking just in that instant, my eyes filling with tears as my lips tasted her sweetness, that tanginess that I so loved, while that anger glittered deep in my mind and other feelings, complicated and frightening, bubbled just underneath, threatening to break free. I knew she wanted me to take my time, but now I didn't want what she wanted. I wanted to hurt her – but I couldn't hurt her. I wouldn't give her what she wanted, though. She'd get what she needed – to come – and that was all.

I ran my tongue firmly over her slit, feeling her twitch in response with a soft whimper, and my tongue softened for a split second, caressing her lips like the petals of a flower, easing them open and sliding within – but my pained heart wouldn't allow me to melt into her again. My tongue hardened, stabbing at her clit almost roughly, and she jerked with a startled gasp, her thighs almost gripping my head as she reacted to my firmness.

I grabbed her legs, my anger heating me, and I took that anger out on her pussy, on the soft, delicious flower that I had worshipped all those times before. I lashed it with my tongue, stabbing and darting my tongue here and there. By now, I knew every weakness in her. I knew where to flutter my tongue to make her jerk, where to stab it to make her gasp, and where to suck her in to drive her over the edge. I made her come brutally fast, with a strangled, startled little squeak, and let her twitch rapidly against my face, my eyes closed and my mouth hard on her soft flesh.

I felt a distant satisfaction – she might have been using me, but at least I could make her come whether she wanted to or not – and leaned away from her, licking my lips furiously, already trying to turn my mind back to the work that waited back at my desk.

Then I couldn't move. Not due to any hesitation on my part, but because her hand was gripping my hair, holding me tight. She arched her back, still breathing fast, and pressed her soft folds back to my lips, rubbing them against my tongue as I opened my mouth in reflex.

"Don't stop," she gasped out, making me freeze in place. "Please, more..." She shuddered, breaking off as my tongue u*********sly touched her, some part of me still as addicted as ever to her taste, her wonderful flavor, the evidence of the pleasure I gave her.

Her fingers gripped my hair firmly, pulling, and I closed my eyes with something like a whimper as my anger imploded, evaporating into a desperate emptiness, with something warm and heavenly gleaming just out of sight. I hesitated, torn between wanting that anger back – that simple, uncomplicated rage – and that heat, that desperate need to taste her, to please her. My tongue stroked her again – this time, warm, soft, and loving, sliding over her opening, dipping into her, grazing her still-sensitive clit.

It was Diane that shattered my resistance this time. "Oh, god, Jessie, more..." she moaned.

I shuddered deeply. My hands, of their own accord, grabbed those creamy smooth hips, and I licked deeper.

"Yes," she breathed, arching, her fingers softening in my hair – but they didn't leave. They rested almost limply on my head, staying gently tangled in my red hair. "Oh, yes," she shuddered, both of her legs sliding over my shoulders, enclosing me in her satiny skin.

My whimper was lost in her soft, wet flesh and her gripping thighs, and my hands slid under her buttocks, cupping her and lifting her greedily to me. My eyes opened, looking up the length of her body. Her head was back, her eyes closed, that little gap between her lips that I had savored so many times. Her free hand reached back to grip the back of her chair as she slid down to half lay in her chair, allowing her to arch higher, her pussy sliding over my tongue until we both moaned.

An image flashed into my over-worked mind – Diane, stretched out naked, on a real bed for once, gripping the headboard and arching helplessly as I drove her to whatever ecstasy I could. Another image flashed in behind it – something else entirely, something I would do if I ever got the opportunity.

"Oh, yes, that's it..."

The images vanished as I recalled what I was doing, my tongue swirling and spiraling in and out of her wetness, and I feasted on her, greedily slurping and sucking at her soft lips, the moist, slick inner flesh, and her creamy nectar flowing freely into my mouth. My tongue drilled deeper still, thrusting desperately. I wanted all of her – I wanted to drive everything but me out of her mind, once and for all.

"Ah...ahh...oh...oh god, what...what..." She cried out as I pulsed my tongue mercilessly in and out of her, fast and deep. I wasn't taking my time or being gentle – she was going to scream for me, and I wasn't going to be used. She was mine, at least for the moment, and I was going to take full advantage.

Her breath turned into short, high-pitched gasps, her hips bucking higher and out of control. She was already close, probably trying to hold back, to prolong this, but I wasn't letting her. My fingers tightened, digging into the firm, silky skin of her buttocks, and my tongue slid out to pull her clit into my mouth. I