The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
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Jockeying For Position free porn video
Jockeying for Position
by Rajah Dodger {[email protected]} (c) 2017
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.
In a big bustling city, one that could be almost anywhere, a large company was the unknowing host to a smaller and very private organization. The company's receptionists, administrative assistants and secretaries - in other words, the women whose work allowed the company to run - served as talent scouts. And the talent they scouted wasn't the kind that showed up on a resume.
Fred's introduction came during a lunch break at an in-house Customer Maintenance seminar. An older man had engaged Fred in casual conversation while waiting in the buffet line, and then guided him to a secluded table well away from most of the seminar attendees. There, over chicken pasta with a limp salad, the older man explained that Fred had been nominated to be in a very special private group. He put extra emphasis on the word, "private".
"Look, Fred, this company has a lot of smart professional women at all levels. Now guys like you and me, we can go out and get dates anywhere. They work out or they don't, and we move on. But the women here, they're focused on moving up - and they don't have the time or energy to waste hunting up a social life in their off-work hours."
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Between you and me, they're probably right. You know how it is, the old boys club protects its own here, but a woman slips up and her career's over."
"So, your job, totally separate from whatever you do in the company, is to make sure they get what they need. They'll be happy, you'll be happy, everyone makes out in the end. And there are really only a few rules. First, stay in shape. You always need to look like someone they'd want to be seen with. Second, keep it in-house. Forget dating outside the company - you'll get all you need in the program. Third, don't fuck up at your regular job, because the company's still bigger than any one of us. And last, don't fuck up with any of these women." His voice took on an ominous tone. "Ever." The older man shook his head, and drained his iced tea. "It's really a great opportunity, Fred. You'll be hearing from someone about your decision."
On that note, they finished lunch and went their separate ways.
There was an audition, of course, but it wasn't at all what Fred might have expected. He found himself escorting the vice-president of Human Resources to dinner and a local theatre production. Dinner was Italian; the play was a revival of something once considered avant-garde. Fred was attentive to his companion, he looked appropriately impressed by the play, they never mentioned the office, and she didn't invite him in when he took her home.
Later that same week, Fred found himself directed to the west side of town, on the tenth floor of a high-rise, and entered an anonymous doorway. Behind the door was a medical suite and a woman in nurse's attire waiting for him. She proceeded to give Fred a very thorough, impersonal but intimate examination, starting with all his physical measurements and moving on to probe and test his reflexes and responses in a way that Fred's own doctor would never have considered. By the time she declared herself finished and dismissed him, Fred was much more than finished - he was barely coherent.
Two days later, a plain manila envelope showed up beside Fred's office phone. The letter inside was a remarkable piece of work, conveying all sorts of information without specifically identifying Fred or anyone else in the company.
"Thank you for your performance in the team-building exercises. We look forward to many future projects that will be mutually beneficial. Some suggestions have been made about professional attire, so an account has been established with Henderson Clothiers for your use. A personal consultant will also be assigned to your account. Your use of their services will signify your agreement to participate in future projects as they are organized."
Fred checked - the account really did exist, although the firm would not discuss his balance over the phone. What the hell, he thought, and headed off to check the place out. It was located in an upscale part of town, and the inspection he got from his "personal consultant" was thankfully much more superficial than the physical exam he'd recently experienced. The clothing consultant made some recommendations for new business suits, and outfitted Fred with several shirts having colors that Fred would not have chosen himself. He also fitted Fred for both silk boxers and near-translucent micromesh briefs, and gave specific instructions on what "social" situations called for each type.
Three days later, Fred had his first date. A week after that, he had his first threesome. It was heady stuff as a surprising number of women decided suddenly to sample the new k** on the block. Fortunately for his stamina and his ability to focus on regular company business, things slowed down after the first few months and he had plenty of time to adjust to his new responsibilities and performance goals.
Most of the calls came with relatively short notice, and not all of the women were directly attentive to Fred, but the encounters gave Fred a massive boost to his ego. As for the few women who explicitly treated Fred as an anonymous and useful piece of meat, it was a small price to pay for his membership in such a rewarding club. Even finding out that the women referred to the men as the "Pump Jockeys" didn't bother Fred - he found it a cute nickname.
There were side benefits, as well. Fred got invited to several cross-company meetings and projects that enhanced his personnel folder, and after six months he found a packet of twenty-dollar bills in his desk drawer once a quarter. One of his "companions" had put him in touch with an excellent physical trainer, so over time Fred's general health improved in parallel with his financial and social well-being. Her visits to keep his "manscaping" in shape were just an added side bonus.
Then, after his first year in the program, Fred and some guy from accounting were taken on a two-week cruise with three of the female board members, whose appetites behind closed doors were both ravenous and eye-opening. They had little in the way of care for other people's attitudes, either, as they took great joy in stroking both men's crotches while gambling drunk in the ship's casino or taking a private excursion to a Bahamas wildlife area for sex in the most natural state. Fred wound up confined naked in their stateroom for two days because of the inconvenient and embarrassing location of the resulting rash - not that they gave him any reason to complain about it!
Life was good.
Over the next twelve months, Fred's corporate position and reputation improved month over month. His finances were up to the point where he could renew a coin collecting hobby he'd given up in college. He had a frequent - if unpredictable - social schedule that kept his balls alternately full and well emptied. Anyone would be happy with the situation.
Anyone not named Fred.
Fred had become bored with the arrangement. He enjoyed the sex, he enjoyed the company of most of the women, but he still felt something missing. Over the Fourth of July weekend Fred had met a pretty waitress at the Italian restaurant near his house, and had found her a bright and intelligent alternative to his work world. His diet slipped to include more Italian dinners, after which he and Melanie started catching the occasional movie together. And after that, the occasional night together.
Unfortunately, Fred's extra activities through the office didn't leave him with the ability to plan dates in advance, which caused occasional arguments with Melanie. In trying to keep her company, he had to find creative ways to beg out of a couple of club calls. Fortunately, everyone involved had been professional about the whole thing. And after all, Fred reflected, he was only human.
"Only human" bit him in the ass one Tuesday morning, when a surprise call for a morning quickie found Fred unable to perform. There were any number of valid and memorable reasons for that, but none he could offer to the woman who sent him away with a dreadful look on her face. The rest of Fred's week was spent anticipating some kind of blowback, but nothing at all happened. By Friday afternoon, Fred was still worried but starting to relax and look ahead toward the weekend.
At 4:45 in the afternoon, while Fred was shutting down his computer, his desk phone rang. The woman on the other end of the line was curt, almost to the point of rudeness. "I hope you don't have any weekend plans. We've got a vice-president in from the coast, and she needs to be completely distracted and relaxed before her Monday meetings. You'll be picked up from your house at seven-o'clock." With that, the line clicked off.
As usual, Fred had left his weekend plans flexible, so other than having to rush through a shower and dinner, there wouldn't be any problem being ready for his date. He decided on the micromesh briefs, to show off his equipment at the right time, and a jacket and slacks combination that set off his eyes and would be good for dancing or other pre-action activities.
His doorbell rang precisely at seven. He opened the door and stepped back to catch his breath. The woman wasn't just attractive, she was a full-bodied raven-haired knockout in three-inch heels and a wet-look dress that ended just above her knees. The dress left her arms bare showing equal parts of workout muscle and sleek sensual lines down to her glossy French nails.
"I'm Vanessa. I certainly hope you're Fred!" With that, Fred's date stepped over his threshold and gave him a kiss that left lipstick on his tongue and an erection pushing against his slacks. She turned on her heels and pulled him in her wake, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him almost an afterthought as they headed for the Lamborghini roadster parked at the curb.
Their first stop was one of the hottest dance clubs in town, and Fred was hard-pressed to keep up with Vanessa - both on the floor where they worked up a sweat and in the rare breaks when the drinks came one after another. The lights and heavy beat, combined with Vanessa's body-close dancing, combined to raise a hunger deep inside Fred, one that only grew until the sound system and the drinks made Fred's head spin into darkness.
He woke up with a slight headache, naked on his back on a padded surface, with a solid erection waving over his crotch and an aching fullness inside his balls. Vanessa came into the room, looked him over from head to toes, then focused in the middle while licking her lips. What happened next shocked Fred - Vanessa reached up, grabbed her hair, and proceeded to pull off what turned out to be a wig, showing short blonde curls as her real hair. She laughed at the look on Fred's face. "It's a good thing you don't have plans for the weekend, Fred, because we're going to get to know each other REALLY well!" She sc****d her nails up the taut outline of his balls, and Fred bucked against the straps holding him in place, still too confused to say anything.
"Where to start, where to start..."
Vanessa took off her dress, revealing the pair of heavy veined breasts that her dance outfit had teased against Fred. She mashed one fleshy weight into Fred's face. "Lick and suck, boy, like your life depends on it." Fred did just that, but it wasn't enough. Vanessa curled both hands around her breast and stuffed it into Fred's mouth, wedging his jaw open. She leaned over his reddened face and pushed insistently, until she was practically fucking Fred's mouth with her breast, the nipple tickling near his throat and causing him to half-gag and thrash against the straps holding him down.
The heavyset woman pulled herself off Fred's face just before he either vomited or passed out, saliva dripping from one swollen dark nipple. "Awww, not really a breast man? Well, let's see where you stand out." She chuckled and pulled a condom from the side of the table, rolling it down his cock and massaging the erection at the same time. Fred's hips twitched as he tried to hump into the sensation, but he was held down too tightly.
Vanessa swung herself up onto the table, blonde-fringed vulva straddling over the condom, and fed Fred into her slippery grip. "Ride'em cowgirl," she yelled as she started bouncing, breasts swinging wildly while Fred's face turned redder. He felt the spasms when her first orgasm hit, and his muscles locked taut in frustration when she reached down and viciously squeezed the base of his cock. "Uh-uh, Freddy boy, this is for me, not for you!" One more set of bouncing squeezes, with his eyes following her swaying breasts and his mouth panting raggedly, and Vanessa had another set of spasms around his aching erection.
"AHHHHHH!" Fred was in agony, balls swollen to bursting and Vanessa's inner grip keeping him just off the edge. Vanessa's third time was the charm - or at least the trigger, as Fred's groin exploded and he pumped urgently filling the condom as Vanessa slid up off his midsection. She squeezed the base of the rubber and slid the full condom up and over the tip of his cock, turning around and waving her broad ass at him to do something out of his view before bringing a fresh condom out and riding him again.
Fred's erection returned quickly, but it took longer before he felt the need to come, and after a prolonged ride atop him Vanessa eventually collected another full condom. This time Fred groaned loudly as her tight grip slid the rubber around his overly sensitive cockhead. He also couldn't understand how he could still be hard, but when he started to say "Wait...", Vanessa came up with a gag and stuffed it in place behind his teeth reducing him to slobbering grunts.
This time the blonde carefully and teasingly stroked Fred's balls and worked a finger into the sensitive spot under his ass, until there was some weight in his balls and she worked another condom into place. This time when she straddled Fred, she swung her knees wide to give him the best possible view of her redly aroused cunt, while clutching his cock in order to mount her ass on him.
Fred's noises, coming past the gag from his dark red flushed face, were more a****l than human by this time. And when Vanessa started working her rear muscles, inching up and down on the condom, he snapped his head desperately side to side sending spittle flying. "Awww, poor freddie baby, you're not cumming, is there a problem?" Her laughter sliced into Fred's brain, as his need fought with the overload of sensation through his twice-emptied cock. "I guess you just need some better ... motivation!"
With that, she lifted her body upward, ass clinging and pulling the lubricated condom up searing through Fred's cock into his brain, spittle and drool flowing around his gag. Vanessa used Fred's own leftover cum and sweat to stroke and squeeze his cock, flexing her wrist and twisting her fist around the head, the table shaking with Fred's violent attempts to escape. The sounds escaping the gag grew more and more urgent, and by the time Vanessa managed to get a small rivulet to ooze from the tip, Fred was shamelessly crying, his every muscle in spasm.
"Well, Fred, if you're no good at that end, we'll have to see what you can do at the other end." Vanessa got up on the table and spread her cheeks, settling her ass over his face like a rubber blanket, covering both the gagged mouth and his snot-smeared nose. "Damn, I forgot - your tongue's worthless with the gag in place. Oh well..." She continued to rock on top of Fred's face until she felt that one last spasm and saw his muscles go slack.
Fred woke up with a slight headache, naked and sweaty, strapped down on his back on a padded surface, with a solid erection waving over his crotch and an aching fullness inside his balls. The door opened and Vanessa came into the room, still in her revealing dress from the club, looking him over while licking her lips. Then, shocking Fred into stunned alertness, she reached up to grab her hair and proceeded to pull off what turned out to be a wig, showing a head of short blonde curls. She laughed at the look on Fred's face, and came over to start stroking his cock. "It's a good thing you don't have plans for the weekend, Fred, because we're going to get to know each other REALLY well!"
Fred bucked and twisted against the straps, to no avail. "No, you - but you already - what -" The confusion on his face made Vanessa laugh even more, and she lowered her head to purr into his ear.
"If we can't have ALL your attention, Fred, then NOBODY's going to get ANY of it - you understand? And a little bird tells me you're about to be assigned to a project that will take a lot of evening and weekend time, so I guess that little waitress whore of yours will just have to live without your cock. You're a pump jockey until you leave this company, Fred. And if you don't put out like a good boy, well, you and I are going to see a lot more of each other!"
Her fingers slid underneath Fred's full balls, and that's when he started screaming...
/ END /
by Rajah Dodger {[email protected]} (c) 2017
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.
In a big bustling city, one that could be almost anywhere, a large company was the unknowing host to a smaller and very private organization. The company's receptionists, administrative assistants and secretaries - in other words, the women whose work allowed the company to run - served as talent scouts. And the talent they scouted wasn't the kind that showed up on a resume.
Fred's introduction came during a lunch break at an in-house Customer Maintenance seminar. An older man had engaged Fred in casual conversation while waiting in the buffet line, and then guided him to a secluded table well away from most of the seminar attendees. There, over chicken pasta with a limp salad, the older man explained that Fred had been nominated to be in a very special private group. He put extra emphasis on the word, "private".
"Look, Fred, this company has a lot of smart professional women at all levels. Now guys like you and me, we can go out and get dates anywhere. They work out or they don't, and we move on. But the women here, they're focused on moving up - and they don't have the time or energy to waste hunting up a social life in their off-work hours."
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Between you and me, they're probably right. You know how it is, the old boys club protects its own here, but a woman slips up and her career's over."
"So, your job, totally separate from whatever you do in the company, is to make sure they get what they need. They'll be happy, you'll be happy, everyone makes out in the end. And there are really only a few rules. First, stay in shape. You always need to look like someone they'd want to be seen with. Second, keep it in-house. Forget dating outside the company - you'll get all you need in the program. Third, don't fuck up at your regular job, because the company's still bigger than any one of us. And last, don't fuck up with any of these women." His voice took on an ominous tone. "Ever." The older man shook his head, and drained his iced tea. "It's really a great opportunity, Fred. You'll be hearing from someone about your decision."
On that note, they finished lunch and went their separate ways.
There was an audition, of course, but it wasn't at all what Fred might have expected. He found himself escorting the vice-president of Human Resources to dinner and a local theatre production. Dinner was Italian; the play was a revival of something once considered avant-garde. Fred was attentive to his companion, he looked appropriately impressed by the play, they never mentioned the office, and she didn't invite him in when he took her home.
Later that same week, Fred found himself directed to the west side of town, on the tenth floor of a high-rise, and entered an anonymous doorway. Behind the door was a medical suite and a woman in nurse's attire waiting for him. She proceeded to give Fred a very thorough, impersonal but intimate examination, starting with all his physical measurements and moving on to probe and test his reflexes and responses in a way that Fred's own doctor would never have considered. By the time she declared herself finished and dismissed him, Fred was much more than finished - he was barely coherent.
Two days later, a plain manila envelope showed up beside Fred's office phone. The letter inside was a remarkable piece of work, conveying all sorts of information without specifically identifying Fred or anyone else in the company.
"Thank you for your performance in the team-building exercises. We look forward to many future projects that will be mutually beneficial. Some suggestions have been made about professional attire, so an account has been established with Henderson Clothiers for your use. A personal consultant will also be assigned to your account. Your use of their services will signify your agreement to participate in future projects as they are organized."
Fred checked - the account really did exist, although the firm would not discuss his balance over the phone. What the hell, he thought, and headed off to check the place out. It was located in an upscale part of town, and the inspection he got from his "personal consultant" was thankfully much more superficial than the physical exam he'd recently experienced. The clothing consultant made some recommendations for new business suits, and outfitted Fred with several shirts having colors that Fred would not have chosen himself. He also fitted Fred for both silk boxers and near-translucent micromesh briefs, and gave specific instructions on what "social" situations called for each type.
Three days later, Fred had his first date. A week after that, he had his first threesome. It was heady stuff as a surprising number of women decided suddenly to sample the new k** on the block. Fortunately for his stamina and his ability to focus on regular company business, things slowed down after the first few months and he had plenty of time to adjust to his new responsibilities and performance goals.
Most of the calls came with relatively short notice, and not all of the women were directly attentive to Fred, but the encounters gave Fred a massive boost to his ego. As for the few women who explicitly treated Fred as an anonymous and useful piece of meat, it was a small price to pay for his membership in such a rewarding club. Even finding out that the women referred to the men as the "Pump Jockeys" didn't bother Fred - he found it a cute nickname.
There were side benefits, as well. Fred got invited to several cross-company meetings and projects that enhanced his personnel folder, and after six months he found a packet of twenty-dollar bills in his desk drawer once a quarter. One of his "companions" had put him in touch with an excellent physical trainer, so over time Fred's general health improved in parallel with his financial and social well-being. Her visits to keep his "manscaping" in shape were just an added side bonus.
Then, after his first year in the program, Fred and some guy from accounting were taken on a two-week cruise with three of the female board members, whose appetites behind closed doors were both ravenous and eye-opening. They had little in the way of care for other people's attitudes, either, as they took great joy in stroking both men's crotches while gambling drunk in the ship's casino or taking a private excursion to a Bahamas wildlife area for sex in the most natural state. Fred wound up confined naked in their stateroom for two days because of the inconvenient and embarrassing location of the resulting rash - not that they gave him any reason to complain about it!
Life was good.
Over the next twelve months, Fred's corporate position and reputation improved month over month. His finances were up to the point where he could renew a coin collecting hobby he'd given up in college. He had a frequent - if unpredictable - social schedule that kept his balls alternately full and well emptied. Anyone would be happy with the situation.
Anyone not named Fred.
Fred had become bored with the arrangement. He enjoyed the sex, he enjoyed the company of most of the women, but he still felt something missing. Over the Fourth of July weekend Fred had met a pretty waitress at the Italian restaurant near his house, and had found her a bright and intelligent alternative to his work world. His diet slipped to include more Italian dinners, after which he and Melanie started catching the occasional movie together. And after that, the occasional night together.
Unfortunately, Fred's extra activities through the office didn't leave him with the ability to plan dates in advance, which caused occasional arguments with Melanie. In trying to keep her company, he had to find creative ways to beg out of a couple of club calls. Fortunately, everyone involved had been professional about the whole thing. And after all, Fred reflected, he was only human.
"Only human" bit him in the ass one Tuesday morning, when a surprise call for a morning quickie found Fred unable to perform. There were any number of valid and memorable reasons for that, but none he could offer to the woman who sent him away with a dreadful look on her face. The rest of Fred's week was spent anticipating some kind of blowback, but nothing at all happened. By Friday afternoon, Fred was still worried but starting to relax and look ahead toward the weekend.
At 4:45 in the afternoon, while Fred was shutting down his computer, his desk phone rang. The woman on the other end of the line was curt, almost to the point of rudeness. "I hope you don't have any weekend plans. We've got a vice-president in from the coast, and she needs to be completely distracted and relaxed before her Monday meetings. You'll be picked up from your house at seven-o'clock." With that, the line clicked off.
As usual, Fred had left his weekend plans flexible, so other than having to rush through a shower and dinner, there wouldn't be any problem being ready for his date. He decided on the micromesh briefs, to show off his equipment at the right time, and a jacket and slacks combination that set off his eyes and would be good for dancing or other pre-action activities.
His doorbell rang precisely at seven. He opened the door and stepped back to catch his breath. The woman wasn't just attractive, she was a full-bodied raven-haired knockout in three-inch heels and a wet-look dress that ended just above her knees. The dress left her arms bare showing equal parts of workout muscle and sleek sensual lines down to her glossy French nails.
"I'm Vanessa. I certainly hope you're Fred!" With that, Fred's date stepped over his threshold and gave him a kiss that left lipstick on his tongue and an erection pushing against his slacks. She turned on her heels and pulled him in her wake, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him almost an afterthought as they headed for the Lamborghini roadster parked at the curb.
Their first stop was one of the hottest dance clubs in town, and Fred was hard-pressed to keep up with Vanessa - both on the floor where they worked up a sweat and in the rare breaks when the drinks came one after another. The lights and heavy beat, combined with Vanessa's body-close dancing, combined to raise a hunger deep inside Fred, one that only grew until the sound system and the drinks made Fred's head spin into darkness.
He woke up with a slight headache, naked on his back on a padded surface, with a solid erection waving over his crotch and an aching fullness inside his balls. Vanessa came into the room, looked him over from head to toes, then focused in the middle while licking her lips. What happened next shocked Fred - Vanessa reached up, grabbed her hair, and proceeded to pull off what turned out to be a wig, showing short blonde curls as her real hair. She laughed at the look on Fred's face. "It's a good thing you don't have plans for the weekend, Fred, because we're going to get to know each other REALLY well!" She sc****d her nails up the taut outline of his balls, and Fred bucked against the straps holding him in place, still too confused to say anything.
"Where to start, where to start..."
Vanessa took off her dress, revealing the pair of heavy veined breasts that her dance outfit had teased against Fred. She mashed one fleshy weight into Fred's face. "Lick and suck, boy, like your life depends on it." Fred did just that, but it wasn't enough. Vanessa curled both hands around her breast and stuffed it into Fred's mouth, wedging his jaw open. She leaned over his reddened face and pushed insistently, until she was practically fucking Fred's mouth with her breast, the nipple tickling near his throat and causing him to half-gag and thrash against the straps holding him down.
The heavyset woman pulled herself off Fred's face just before he either vomited or passed out, saliva dripping from one swollen dark nipple. "Awww, not really a breast man? Well, let's see where you stand out." She chuckled and pulled a condom from the side of the table, rolling it down his cock and massaging the erection at the same time. Fred's hips twitched as he tried to hump into the sensation, but he was held down too tightly.
Vanessa swung herself up onto the table, blonde-fringed vulva straddling over the condom, and fed Fred into her slippery grip. "Ride'em cowgirl," she yelled as she started bouncing, breasts swinging wildly while Fred's face turned redder. He felt the spasms when her first orgasm hit, and his muscles locked taut in frustration when she reached down and viciously squeezed the base of his cock. "Uh-uh, Freddy boy, this is for me, not for you!" One more set of bouncing squeezes, with his eyes following her swaying breasts and his mouth panting raggedly, and Vanessa had another set of spasms around his aching erection.
"AHHHHHH!" Fred was in agony, balls swollen to bursting and Vanessa's inner grip keeping him just off the edge. Vanessa's third time was the charm - or at least the trigger, as Fred's groin exploded and he pumped urgently filling the condom as Vanessa slid up off his midsection. She squeezed the base of the rubber and slid the full condom up and over the tip of his cock, turning around and waving her broad ass at him to do something out of his view before bringing a fresh condom out and riding him again.
Fred's erection returned quickly, but it took longer before he felt the need to come, and after a prolonged ride atop him Vanessa eventually collected another full condom. This time Fred groaned loudly as her tight grip slid the rubber around his overly sensitive cockhead. He also couldn't understand how he could still be hard, but when he started to say "Wait...", Vanessa came up with a gag and stuffed it in place behind his teeth reducing him to slobbering grunts.
This time the blonde carefully and teasingly stroked Fred's balls and worked a finger into the sensitive spot under his ass, until there was some weight in his balls and she worked another condom into place. This time when she straddled Fred, she swung her knees wide to give him the best possible view of her redly aroused cunt, while clutching his cock in order to mount her ass on him.
Fred's noises, coming past the gag from his dark red flushed face, were more a****l than human by this time. And when Vanessa started working her rear muscles, inching up and down on the condom, he snapped his head desperately side to side sending spittle flying. "Awww, poor freddie baby, you're not cumming, is there a problem?" Her laughter sliced into Fred's brain, as his need fought with the overload of sensation through his twice-emptied cock. "I guess you just need some better ... motivation!"
With that, she lifted her body upward, ass clinging and pulling the lubricated condom up searing through Fred's cock into his brain, spittle and drool flowing around his gag. Vanessa used Fred's own leftover cum and sweat to stroke and squeeze his cock, flexing her wrist and twisting her fist around the head, the table shaking with Fred's violent attempts to escape. The sounds escaping the gag grew more and more urgent, and by the time Vanessa managed to get a small rivulet to ooze from the tip, Fred was shamelessly crying, his every muscle in spasm.
"Well, Fred, if you're no good at that end, we'll have to see what you can do at the other end." Vanessa got up on the table and spread her cheeks, settling her ass over his face like a rubber blanket, covering both the gagged mouth and his snot-smeared nose. "Damn, I forgot - your tongue's worthless with the gag in place. Oh well..." She continued to rock on top of Fred's face until she felt that one last spasm and saw his muscles go slack.
Fred woke up with a slight headache, naked and sweaty, strapped down on his back on a padded surface, with a solid erection waving over his crotch and an aching fullness inside his balls. The door opened and Vanessa came into the room, still in her revealing dress from the club, looking him over while licking her lips. Then, shocking Fred into stunned alertness, she reached up to grab her hair and proceeded to pull off what turned out to be a wig, showing a head of short blonde curls. She laughed at the look on Fred's face, and came over to start stroking his cock. "It's a good thing you don't have plans for the weekend, Fred, because we're going to get to know each other REALLY well!"
Fred bucked and twisted against the straps, to no avail. "No, you - but you already - what -" The confusion on his face made Vanessa laugh even more, and she lowered her head to purr into his ear.
"If we can't have ALL your attention, Fred, then NOBODY's going to get ANY of it - you understand? And a little bird tells me you're about to be assigned to a project that will take a lot of evening and weekend time, so I guess that little waitress whore of yours will just have to live without your cock. You're a pump jockey until you leave this company, Fred. And if you don't put out like a good boy, well, you and I are going to see a lot more of each other!"
Her fingers slid underneath Fred's full balls, and that's when he started screaming...
/ END /
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