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Subject: "Tammy and the Boss Man" Part one - by Perv (NEW)
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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
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Archive name: BossMan.txt (mf,inter,humil,voy, preg)
Authors name: Pervitron@Hotmail.com
Story Title : "Tammy and the Boss Man"
PART ONE OF TWO
_______________________________________________________
WARNING: The following story contains graphic descrip-
tions of a sexual nature. It is intended for mature
persons only. Any persons not old enough to legally
receive adult materials or who are offended by them
should read no farther. Further distribution of this
story--and all others of this nature by this author--is
permissible only to appropriate persons and only if the
contents and author credit are unchanged.
NOTES:
1. Copyright © May 1998.
2. The persons and situations depicted in this story
are entirely fictitious. Any similarities to actual
persons or situations are completely unintentional and
coincidental.
3. Reader comments and feedback are always encouraged;
send to Pervitron@Hotmail.com
4. This story may be copied for free distribution,
provided the author credit is retained.
________________________________________________________
Story: Boss Man
Author: Pervitron
Tammy and I were very happy in the first few months of
our marriage. Hers was the love I had always looked
for. Tammy was such a sweet young girl, a virgin of 20
when we married. She was flat out gorgeous, but you
wouldn't know it to look at her in the street. She hid
her shapely body and legs in loose, long cut dresses,
and kept her thick black hair pinned back. She was a
lady, a beautiful angel. She was a minister's daughter,
raised in a deeply Christian household, and her strong
religious convictions made her very conscious to not
dress provocatively. I'd come to know over the few
months what a spectacular body she had. I felt
privileged to have seen it all, and to have been the
first man to feel the inside of her lovely young pussy.
In contrast to her, I was much more adventurous sexual-
ly. Certainly no virgin, by the time I was her age I
had had many women. Sex was the most important thing
in my life. You might even consider me a sex addict;
I spent many hours in strip clubs and adult bookstores,
enjoying pornography and the pleasures of feeling up
strippers. In fact, I continued to do this even after
we were married, because while Tammy was the love of my
life, there were feelings and urges that she didn't
satisfy. There was no way I could tell her about this,
she wouldn't understand, so it remained a secret I kept
from her.
Marriage so far had been a compromise. I brought her
along slowly; She was very resistant to do anything she
considered "kinky", and to her that included blowjobs
and any kind of ass play. I was crazy enough about her
to hold myself back. It was tough for me. Birth con-
trol was out of the question because of her religion,
so early in our marriage, before we wanted children,
there were long periods when I didn't get anything at
all. But as tough as it was, I did love her, and I even
treated it like a tease. Slowly, over the months, she
was loosening up, and with each new boundary we crossed
I felt encouraged. Just small things, things like kiss-
ing my cock or letting me talk dirty to her while we
"made love" really got me off, they felt to me like
conquests, because she was so resistant. And oh, so
beautiful. I longed for the future, because I knew
that someday I'd have her doing anything I wanted.
Someday I'd have her kneeling before me, and looking up
at me, waiting for me to blow my load all over her
pretty face.
But, you know, woman of a certain age start thinking of
babies, and Tammy was that age. So after we were
married almost a year she decided we'd try for one.
And it was like a switch was thrown in her head - all
of a sudden she craved sex. She had no problem doing
what I wanted to get started - lots of nights I'd come
home to find her in the slutwear she refused to wear
for me when we were first married. There was a part of
me that felt resentful, used, because she wasn't doing
these things for me, just to use my urges to get what
she wanted: a baby. So there she'd be when I got home
from work, all dolled up like a groupie, with a bikini
top, skimpy cotton dress high enough to show the tops
of her thigh-highs, and the "fuck me" pumps I loved so
much. Yeah, she had the look, she knew what I liked and
how to tease, but she wouldn't really act the part. I
wanted to get head; I wanted her eyes looking up at me
from down there. That was all I thought about, but she
just wouldn't do it. It was the same excuse she used
all along: "In the eyes of God it was unnatural". Still
the "nice girl" inside. But I knew the real reason -
She wasn't about to waste any of my precious baby seed
that way. So straight sex was all she'd allow. And
from my end, straight sex 10 or so times a week is more
work than I bargained for. I wasn't 18 anymore. A few
times we'd get started, she'd be under me, egging me
on, tickling my ass with her long nails, and all of a
sudden something would happen to me. I'd lose it, just
go soft. I'd be ashamed, she'd say "That's OK."
Months went on, there was no sign of a baby, and I knew
she was unhappy.
As if that wasn't enough, money started becoming a pro-
blem - I just didn't make enough. I was going to school
at night, but was stuck in a low paying day job until I
finished school. Things were real tight. We lived in
a small apartment, and never had enough money for sim-
ple pleasures like vacations. We couldn't even afford
to go out to dinner when her friends invited us. It
seemed like all our friends had much more than we did.
Some of her girlfriends even had vacation homes.
So she was unhappy enough about the money to go out to
work. She found a job as an office girl. Every day she
rode the subway to her job downtown. I felt terrible
seeing her go to work. She never complained openly,
she really was a sweet girl, but there were times,
especially when she was talking with her better off
friends that I saw a hint of unhappiness, real
jealousy. The man in me knew this wasn't right. If
we could just hold on for a few years, things would be
better. I'd make more money after I finished school.
She could quit, I'd have more time, more energy, and
enough money to provide for her. Then maybe those baby
juices would kick in again. I was determined to stick
it out. I still loved her.
-=*=-
She had been working a few months when she started
acting out about it. She'd be silent, almost sullen
when she came home, saying little about what went on.
She worked for some company downtown - all I knew was
its name, Invigra Inc., and that she spent her day
doing some kind of clerical work. I could sense a
change in her. She wasn't after me for sex anymore.
She started being angry all the time. She'd come home
from work and not even talk to me, and I felt miser-
able. I felt like a failure.
For a week or so I consoled myself by spending more
time in the strip clubs after work. The girls there
weren't so demanding, just a quick buck and they shook
their ass for me. But after having the promise of her,
the hope that she would turn into some dark angel in
bed, these diversions didn't satisfy anymore.
So one day I confronted her. "What's with you? Ever
since you started this job you've changed. I told you
it would only be till I finished school, but you're
acting like you're mad about it!"
She just ran into the bedroom, tears in her eyes and
closed the door. "Fuck her!" I thought. I got my coat
on and went out, out to the local titty bar. I hadn't
cheated on Tammy at all since we'd been married, unless
you count feeling up strippers and sluts in these
clubs. My hands worked overtime that night, and a lot
of the money that Tammy earned wound up laced through
g-strings.
She was sitting up in bed when I got home. She said
she was sorry, but her unhappiness these past few weeks
had nothing to do with me. She wasn't mad about work-
ing; she just hated the place she was in. What she
told me next changed my mood completely.
"There's a boss there, and he's always hitting on me.
I have to go into his office, and he's always putting
his hands on me, touching my bottom." She was starting
to sob as she said this, a tear falling in a slow roll
down her beautiful cheek. "He says things to me, dirty
things." My heart started beating faster. Someone was
going to get his ass kicked.
"What's his name?"
"Brock." What kind of name was that, I thought?
"We'll Tammy, tomorrow I'm going to work with you. And
I can guarantee you this Brock asshole isn't ever going
to bother you again." I wanted her to know I'd take
care of this for her, I wanted her to feel safe, pro-
tected. I didn't tell her that I hadn't been in a
fight since grammar school. This guy Brock was pro-
bably some old office guy, grown pudgy and soft around
the middle. I told her I'd make this guy sorry he ever
messed with her. I showed her my fist, and said, "This
guy will be one sorry motherfucker!"
She just stared wide-eyed at me.
-=*=-
When we got into the elevator the next morning, she
pressed floor 45. I noticed that Invigra had floors
39-45 in the building, and I pondered the meaning of
her working on the top floor. I guessed that this Brock
was some bigwig in the company. I figured the guy was
some old business fart, I'd make short work of him.
The offices on the 45th floor seemed very prosperous
indeed. Very plush and dignified, our footsteps were
silent in the thick carpeting. The receptionist was
an extraordinarily beautiful woman, a polished Nordic
beauty, wearing a thin silk blouse. I could see a hint
of protruding nipples, and I felt myself stir.
Tammy asked for Brock, and we were asked to wait for
a few minutes. While we were waiting on the couch, I
amused myself by checking out the people in the office
as they walked through the corridor. Almost everyone
was female, and they were all knockouts, young woman
in their early 20's, impeccably dressed and attractive-
ly made up. Even their voices were sexy. I wondered
if Invigra was some sort of modeling agency. I was
about to ask Tammy when a tall, shapely oriental woman
told us the Mr. Brock would see us now.
As we walked through the hall to his office, I got
myself ready. I was going to surprise the prick, get
right in his face. Just one word from him and I'd
throw his sorry ass right through the fuckin window.
The Asian girl opened the door, and for a moment, I
just took in the surroundings. Mr. Brock's office was
the size of our apartment. It was a corner office with
two floor-to-ceiling, windows that looked out on the
harbor. There was a sitting area with a couch and two
easy chairs on the right as you walked in, a rich
mahogany bar on the left, and a long expanse of thick
red carpeting before Brock's desk.
He was standing there, and at the first sight of him
all my plans of kicking his sorry ass through the
window evaporated. I'd need to try something different.
Brock was a huge black man, at least 6'7", and he pro-
bably weighed about 250 pounds. He was in his late
twenties, there was an athletic grace to his movements
as he rose from behind his big desk and sauntered over
to us. No way I'd last two seconds in a fight with
him. He shook my hand: "Tammy's told me all about
you." He looked down at me, and gave enough of a
squeeze in his grip to make me grimace. Somehow he
knew what I was there for.
I couldn't talk, couldn't get the words out of my
throat. He looked at me, with the light of a smirk
in his eyes. "What's on your mind?" he said with a
bit of a challenge. There was something disorientating
about him. In addition to his physical bulk, there was
an air of settled power and prosperity about him. His
was dressed in a custom tailored pinstripe suit, a
silk tie that probably itself cost my weeks wages. He
had lots of expensive jewelry: A solid gold watch,
several large rings, and his right ear had a 3 or 4
carat diamond stud. He exuded power and confidence.
Guessing how he made it here, I had an image of him
beating some drug dealer to death in a dark alley,
winning his first piece of turf on his climb to the
top. But there was another image that fit also,
because I had to admit the man had an air of intel-
ligence, a winning combination of ballsy wit and a
cat-like alertness. He could have made it here with
his brains too, dealing on the trading floor of an
exchange.
I had to say something. Both he and Tammy were staring
at me. I started to look at Tammy, but I couldn't meet
those beautiful green eyes that stared back at me. I
knew she remembered how big and tough I'd sounded last
night, how I ran my mouth about what I would do to
Brock. I realized she looked at me the same way last
night and I realized she hadn't give me even a hint of
what Brock was like. I didn't like the feeling that
gave me; She knew what I was getting myself into, and
she let it happen.
"Well, Tammy, guess I'll just get back to work while
your MAN here gets himself together." He gave Tammy a
quick wink he turned and started back to his desk. As
he sat down he laughed: "Guess a cat's got his tongue!"
He leaned back in his leather chair and studied me.
Sizing me up with a cool hard stare. I couldn't hold
his gaze, I had to look past him at the boats in the
harbor behind him. The ball was in my court, and I
felt helpless.
He pressed a button and said, "Bring in some refresh-
ments for my guests, please." Still leaning back, the
silence held the charge in the air.
"Tammy tells me you kids are trying to have a child."
He was starting, he knew he had an opening and would
work on the wound. "Kids," even though he was a year
or so younger than us. I had the sick sense of where
he was going.
"But it's been months now, and I don't see any change
in her lovely figure."
"But then again, it might take .... many years..." He
was grinning from ear to ear, flashing his big white
teeth, "...Considering what you have to work with!"
He eased back in his chair, letting fly with a big,
booming laugh.
Finally, I forced some words out, "y-y-y-y-you know,
y-y-y-you c-c-c-an't harass w-w-women that work for
you!" I was gulping for air as I fought to get the
words out.
-=*=-
"You'll find that many of the things we hold to be true, are only that, from
a certain point of view."
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