("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
The Old Man's Office
by Godiva (godiva@starmail.com)
***
A spoiled rich bitch cajoles her boy-toy into sex in her
father's office at work. (MF)
***
"We shouldn't be here."
"If you've changed your mind, we can just forget it."
"No! I haven't changed my mind, Dahlia... darling
Dahlia... but why the old man's office?"
"Because it's safe."
"Safe!" the man exclaimed. In repose, he appeared to be
a noble edifice of staunch masculinity, but there was a
weakness in him that turned Dahlia's stomach. "In the
old man's office?"
"Oh don't be such a wimp," Dahlia snapped, in
exasperation. "Harper Lewis is halfway across the
continent, and even when he isn't, he usually works out
of his apartment."
"But what if his secretary..." the brawny man trailed
off, looking as if he were about to burst into tears.
"Oh, Ryder, don't you know anything about what goes on
here?" Dahlia asked rhetorically. "Harper gave Gertie a
second office on the twenty-third floor. All Harper's
calls go there, except when he is in the building.
Gertie found it too isolated up here in executive
territory."
"Oh. Well I don't keep track of all the insignificant
doings of the staff," Ryder pouted. "And I'm not a wimp.
You just don't realize how dangerous this is."
"What? Getting our rocks off in the Great Man's office?"
"I meant the takeover," Ryder replied peevishly. "But,
this too. The old bastard is no prude, but he'd be sore
as a boil if he found us here. He enjoys nothing more
than belittling me. And, if you think I'm a wimp...."
Ryder began, petulantly.
"Oh, Ryder! Honey!" Dahlia cried, reaching to pacify the
offended man with a submissive hug about his waist.
"Don't mind what I say, Darling. It's just when I think
you're rejecting me, I get so upset I say anything."
"Rejecting you?" Ryder sounded baffled.
"You said we shouldn't be here, we should just forget
about it," Dahlia declared. "That depressed me so much I
called you a wimp, so you'd get mad enough to go through
with it."
"I said to forget it?" Ryder was aghast.
"You did, Ryder. You know you did," Dahlia insisted.
"And it hurt, because I love you so. I want to give
myself to you, Ryder."
"But, I just meant not here, in the old man's office,"
Ryder avowed. "I mean, we should go away for a weekend,
just you and me. A friend of mine has a cottage I could
borrow, or there are the Bahamas."
"No, Ryder, please," Dahlia begged pressing harder into
Ryder's chest. "No expensive dates, no costly gifts, no
trips to exotic places, no help with my career, no
money; I don't even want you to thank me. I just want
you to take me, Ryder. Use me! Love me, Ryder, if you
can, but take me! Take me, please!"
Awed by the intensity of Dahlia's demand, Ryder
pondered--as vaguely as he ever examined another's
needs; the contradictions of this woman.
Ryder Lewis had seen Dahlia Damon about the office for
nearly six years. As late as two weeks ago --if asked--
he would have said that Dahlia was a harsh-featured,
desiccated stick of a woman who wore severely-cut,
mannish suits. That she was, in fact, a pseudo male,
female executive. With Dahlia pressed tightly against
him--as had happened several times this week--Ryder was
forced to admit he had misjudged Dahlia.
Beneath the conservatively tailored suit, his body
contacted a wildly lush feminine figure. Her strength
came as no surprise, except in its degree, which was
somewhat overwhelming. And it did surprise Ryder that
she chose to employ that strength to press her hidden
charms against him, while a smile lightened her
determined features into real beauty. Dahlia's
countenance glowed with that fawning expression which
does so much to enhance a woman, yet so few master.
"Look, I've got an idea," Ryder declared, as the
intoxication of a beautiful woman, worshipping him with
her eyes and body, went to his head, "let's forget about
the takeover. It's all so sordid, and I don't like the
idea of you spending a single second with Curt Andover.
He's... he's some kind of animal."
"Oh, Ryder, Baby, don't be jealous," Dahlia begged.
"It's so ridiculous. What could I possibly want with
Curtis Andover, when I can be with you. But, we must go
through with the takeover, darling. You... You don't
know what it means to me."
"Eh... now that you mention it, I don't," Ryder
confessed, dumbfounded. In his experience, beautiful
women didn't normally offer their bodies, or risk their
careers, unless there was something in it for them.
"What do you get out of it?"
"Satisfaction," Dahlia answered, a suspicion of a sob in
her voice. "You don't know what it does to me, how it
makes me feel, seeing the inconsiderate treatment you
get from these people. The old man treats you like dirt,
and everyone else follows his lead. It makes me want to
scream."
Much struck with the justice of her observation, Ryder
impulsively pressed a kiss onto Dahlia's lips, mashing
their noses together in the process. Undaunted, he slid
one hand upward, scouring her heavy jacket for a
concealed breast; then yelped as he impaled his thumb on
the sharp point of her lapel pin.
"Oh Honey, I'm sorry!" Dahlia exclaimed, popping the
wounded digit from his mouth to kiss the trifling wound.
Stepping back, Dahlia began to undress quickly. With
sure, deft, movements she rapidly shed her tailored
jacket, practical white blouse, and popped open the
catch of her utilitarian brassier, releasing high
eagerly jutting breasts from their rigidly compressed
prisons.
Watching them bounce and jiggle as Dahlia bent to step
out of her skirt, Ryder forgot to minister to his
injured thumb. Having shed her shoes, Dahlia swept both
her panties and pantihose down her legs, stopping at the
ankles to draw them off from the toes. Pausing only to
assure herself that the pantihose were not tangled or
damaged, Dahlia turned, legs parted, while she stretched
forth her arms to welcome Ryder.
Had he been his uncle, Ryder might have likened Dahlia's
transformation to the Venus de Milo freed from her block
of marble. Since-- with the exception of beer and
football--Ryder was culturally unlettered, he simply
gawked.
Gripping the bottom of his clamorous tie, Dahlia backed
toward an impressively outsized leather couch, dragging
Ryder as though he were on a leash. While she shuffled
backwards, Dahlia's other hand was busily tugging at
Ryder's belt. When she felt the couch's costly leather
touch her calves, Dahlia released the last catch on
Ryder's pants. Another practised motion sent Ryder's
boxers down his legs to join the puddle of clothes about
his ankles. With a whoop of laughter, Dahlia launched
herself backwards to plop onto the couch, forcing Ryder
to accompany her.
Dahlia landed with her back pressed into the cool
leather, while Ryder grovelled between her spread legs,
the coarse weave of his tweed jacket scratching Dahlia's
stomach, where his elbow prodded. Balancing awkwardly on
his knees, Ryder grasped a large, looming breast,
squeezing and pinching, energetically.
"Ow! That feels good," Dahlia lied.
As he repeated the manoeuvre on her other breast, Dahlia
noticed Ryder's rigid penis peeking coyly between the
parted curtain of his shirt. Digging in her heels behind
Ryder's rear, Dahlia dragged him off-balance, and set
him falling on top of her. Quickly, she raised her hips,
and tilted to receive him.
"Ouch! Sonovabitch!" Ryder declared, as his penis bent
against a bony protrusion on Dahlia's pelvis. "Dammit,"
he expanded, "that hurts!"
Raising himself, Ryder grabbed his rapidly wilting
erection.
"Oh, poor Baby," Dahlia proclaimed, adroitly
confiscating Ryder's injured member, "you stubbed your
poor widdly cocky-wocky."
Gradually, the combination of mystic fingers and
soothing nonsense convinced the pained penis to perform.
As he hardened, Ryder deliriously hauled out his wallet
and extracted a condom. Shredding the wrapper, he
attempted to put it on. By the third unsuccessful
attempt, he was becoming frantic. Calmly, Dahlia took
the rubber and rolled it up Ryder's shaft. In five
seconds it was on, and fit like a coat of paint.
Without further foreplay, Ryder guided his penis into
Dahlia's vagina by hand. Once the head was securely
stuffed through the labia, he rammed his penis home.
Immediately, Ryder began humping and bucking, as his
hands clutched fiercely at Dahlia's breast's. Humping
and pumping, Ryder's mighty grunting filled the office,
and eventually, slightly moved the couch. Gradually,
Dahlia raised her legs to clasp about Ryder's waist. As
her feet touched behind Ryder's back, he gave a great
bellow, stopped, humped convulsively three times, and
collapsed on top of Dahlia.
"Ryder?" Dahlia's voice sounded muffle and anxious. "Are
you okay? Ryder?"
A growl sounded in Dahlia's ears. Quickly, it expanded
itself into a rolling snore. "Shit!" Dahlia observed
with feeling.
"Ryder," she said, after several failed attempts to
wriggle free. "Get off."
Ryder responded with a complicated buzzing sound.
"I'm warning you."
The buzzing remained unabated.
Dahlia dug the heel of her foot in front of Ryder's hip.
Her hand burrowed to reach the ribcage below his
shoulder. With a grunt Dahlia straightened both arm and
leg, and Ryder flopped over onto his back. Dahlia rolled
off the couch, leaving Ryder to his somnambulant
muttering as he slid bonelessly to the floor.
Brazenly, Dahlia stalked across the office to the
entrance. Checking the lock, she removed the key and
returned to the desk, which dominated the huge office.
"Wha'cha doing?"
"I'm keeping the key," Dahlia announced, a furious scowl
marring her features. She took a deep breath and
replaced it with her fawning smile, then turned back to
Ryder, who was still resting on the carpet. "Honey, if I
keep the key, you can get another, then we can meet here
often."
"Er, yes, as long as the old man is out of town," Ryder
agreed, reluctancy.
"It's only one more week," Dahlia reminded him, "then
this will be your office."
"I guess you're right," Ryder allowed. "It is time for
me to stand on my own two feet."
Putting words into action, Ryder arose from the floor,
but tripped over the tangled clothing warped about his
ankles, and measured his length on the carpet. Dahlia
looked away, biting her lip. Starting over, Ryder
managed to untangle his slacks, draw them up, and buckle
them in place. A few adjustments, a twitch to straighten
his tie, a quick pass of his comb, and Ryder was ready
for business.
"Well, I must run," Ryder announced, "I'm already late
for a meeting.
Oh, are you going to see Curt tonight?"
"I'm not sure," Dahlia replied. "It mostly depends on
what headway is made with Witherspoon."
"Witherspoon! Bob Witherspoon? Curt will never convince
Witherspoon to make a move against my uncle," Ryder
predicted. "He's too much of an old woman."
"I think he can be brought to see the advantages,"
Dahlia replied, carelessly.
"I doubt it," Ryder objected. "Besides, Bob Witherspoon
sticks his neck out for no man."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Well, gotta go," Ryder pecked Dahlia's lips with a
kiss, then stood back for her to unlock the door.
"Better not leave that behind," Dahlia advised.
Turning to look where she pointed, Ryder spied a used
condom lying in front of the couch, slowly staining the
carpet.
"Er... can't you take care of it?" Ryder glanced at his
cuff and added, "I really am late."
"Well, it is yours, after all."
Hesitantly, Ryder raised the condom between his thumb
and forefinger.
He looked about in embarrassed puzzlement.
"I have no place to put it," he protested.
"Oh, for goodness sake," Dahlia exclaimed, turning to
unlock the door, "just put it in your pocket."
"My pocket!" Ryder was shocked. "Never!" he avowed,
brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.
With a stoic expression congealed on his features, Ryder
closed his hand about the foul object. He marching
across the room, and waited while Dahlia unlocked the
door. After a quick peek, she swung the door open. With
an expression of Homeric dignity pasted on his face,
Ryder passed through the portal. Down the hall he
strode, a tall, distinguished man expensively attired,
holding his head erect and a soiled condom cupped in his
hand.
Dahlia carefully turned the key in the lock, leaned back
against the door, surveying the office. Nonchalantly,
the naked woman flipped the key into the air, caught it,
and delivered her opinion.
"What," she told the empty office, "a maroon!"
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 68