The Whore In The Office

By | January 14, 2011

I was writing my post about office sluts when I remembered this story. Enjoy.

Gordon raised the glass to his lips and let the vodka slide slowly down his throat, the dry, burning sensation one of the few things that made him feel alive these days. He considered the glowing cherry of the cigarette in his other hand, carcinogen laden blue smoke curling sinuously from it. And that was the other.

It was early, only eleven in the evening, it would be two or three before he lapsed into unconsciousness for an hour or so of restless sleep before dragging himself out of an oily slumber and into his Aston Martin for the drive to work. He regarded the TV with vague interest, the programme was in Spanish. He didn’t speak Spanish, but he was the first on the estate to have a satellite dish, so he was going to make sure he watched this foreign shit and got his money’s worth. Well, it made some sort of sense to him by the time he was half a litre into the night’s bottle of vodka.

It had been a productive day at work. Business was good, and while companies around him in the industry were failing he continued to prosper despite the economic slow-down. Come to think of it he’d had a good couple of years, seeing many of his old mate’s firms go to the wall. So if it was that good why did he drink a litre of vodka every night and fill the onyx ashtray to overflowing while watching incomprehensible satellite TV programmes?

~~~

She had walked into his office with a provocatively low-cut top displaying, what his lad’s mags would describe as, her ample chest. She wanted the job that much he though to himself, chuckling.

She placed herself carefully in the chair opposite his desk, ensuring he could almost see up her short skirt. Almost, she was a fucking tease. He liked that, it meant she knew what she was up to, not one of these stupid air-head’s fresh out of secretarial college with their diplomas and no experience of the real world.

As it turned out she had no experience either, but that seemed to matter less and less as the interview progressed. Especially when she kept leaning forward, tits fighting like two puppies in a sack, threatening to spill out of a bra whose only purpose seemed to be that it would soon disgorge it’s cargo onto the wood and leather of his desk.

She had a way of licking her lips too. It promised a lot. All that mattered now was if she would keep her lip’s promises. Those promises were making his cock stir in his trousers and dribble down his inner thigh.

When they had finished she left the office wiggling her big ass at him and waited in reception as he’d asked while he cancelled the rest of the interview appointments.

He took her out to the Aston at about three in the afternoon, raising a few eyebrows in the office. He drove her to a country pub and experimented with a little small-talk. It wasn’t his forte, not that it seemed to matter to her. Polly it seemed was more than happy to drink the rum and coke he bought her and let his hand explore her legs under the table until he discovered that his suspicion about stockings, not tights, had been true.

~~~

Gordon sighed and shuffled in his armchair, his cock was uncomfortable again. His glass was empty, he refilled it, omitting the spring water this time.

He looked down.

Her head was in his lap, working away like a pro. Her tongue was lapping at his frenulum, eyes looking up at him. Very nice, he thought.

Her mouth encircled the end of his cock, drawing him deep into her mouth and began to bob up and won for all she was worth. He felt his glans press against her soft palette and then with a pop pass it. She couldn’t breath, he could tell, she began to gag. Enthusiastic didn’t quite cover it, she raised her head again and sucked hard on his erect member.

She had removed her top, but other wise was full clothed, He had fancied a quicky over the bonnet of the Aston on the way home, but she’d started acting coy. “Prick teaser” he’d thought but soon discovered otherwise when she started fumbling with his flies while he drove.

She’d given him a hand job before they were half way back to his house, caught his cum in a handful of tissues and thrown it out of the window into the hedgerow just before they entered the estate …

Now he felt the spunk rising, “ready or not love, here I cum!” he thought when the muscular contractions began. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t keep up as he spurted into her mouth, the excess dribbling down her chin. When she was sure he had squirted his last she looked up to display her glistening lips, letting him watch her scoop the errant globules into her mouth.

He grinned an inane grin and soon after drifted off to sleep.

When his snoring became deep and constant she slipped into the kitchen and dialled home.

“Mum? Yes, it’s Polly, well you know you said I should find myself a rich husband …”