I never planned to fuck my boss. Fresh out of college, I had my life mapped out like one of those neat spreadsheets Paco’s company loved so much. Good grades, good job, good girl. But somewhere between the late nights at the office and the way his eyes crawled over my body, I forgot to pencil in "resist the silver fox executive who wants to wreck my ass."
You were more than twice my age, Paco. Fifty-two, salt-and-pepper hair, and hands that looked like they could close a deal or unclasp a bra with equal expertise. I was twenty-two, a size five with perky B-cups and an ass that made my jeans look like they were painted on. I noticed you noticing. Every goddamn day.
The first time you asked me for coffee, I said no. The second time, I said I was busy. The third time, I felt something shift in my stomach when I watched you walk away. You didn't sulk like a rejected boy. You just smiled, like you knew something I didn't.
"You look at me like you're undressing me," I finally said one evening, cornered in the break room.
"I am undressing you," you replied, leaning against the counter. "Every single time. You want to know what I see?"
I should have walked out. Instead, I crossed my arms and waited.
"You riding me," you said, voice low and steady. "That long black hair of yours swaying while you bounce on my cock. Your mouth open, those perfect little tits jiggling. I see it every time I close my eyes."
My pussy clenched. I hated you for that. Hated that my body betrayed me while my brain screamed warnings. But three months later, I was packing my bags and moving with you to another city where you were heading up a new company project. Three months later, I was your princess.
And princesses get fucked. Daily.
I learned your body faster than I learned any corporate policy. You loved me in high heels and a thong, nothing else. I'd strut around our apartment, the click of my stilettos on hardwood floors like a dinner bell for your cock. By the time I reached you on the couch, you'd already have your pants open, that thick dick standing at attention.
"You're so eager," I'd tease, lowering myself between your knees.
"Shut up and suck it."
I'd wrap my lips around your head, tasting the salt of your pre-cum, and you'd groan like I'd just solved world hunger. Your hands would tangle in my hair, guiding me down until your cock hit the back of my throat. I learned to breathe through my nose, to relax my jaw, to take all of you until my mascara ran and my lipstick smeared across your shaft.
"Fuck, Isis. Just like that."
I'd pull back, letting your dick slap against my cheek. "You like when I'm messy?"
"I like when you're my little whore."
That word should have offended me. Instead, it made my thong soak through. I'd go back down, bobbing my head faster, my hand twisting around the base where my mouth couldn't reach. Your moans filled the room, deep and guttural, and I'd feel powerful. This executive, this man who commanded boardrooms, was putty under my tongue.
You fucked my ass like it belonged to you. Every morning before work, you'd bend me over the bathroom sink, slick up my tight hole with lube, and push inside while I watched us in the mirror. My mouth would form a perfect O, my eyes would roll back, and you'd grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
"Whose ass is this?"
"Yours," I'd gasp. "It's yours, Paco."
"You're goddamn right it is."
The first time you came in my mouth, I wasn't prepared for the volume. You grabbed my head with both hands, held me still, and pumped rope after rope of hot cum across my tongue. When you finally let go, I pulled back and opened my mouth, showing you the pearly pool I'd collected.
Then I swallowed. Every drop.
You watched my throat bob, your chest still heaving. "Good girl."
I licked my lips and smiled. "I never thought I would develop a taste for it."
"Taste for what?"
"For being your slut. For your cum. For your cock in my ass. All of it." I stood up, my knees sore, my thong dangling from one ankle. "I was such a good girl before you."
You pulled me onto your lap, your softening dick pressing against my thigh. "You're still a good girl. Just a different kind."
"A better kind?"
"The best kind." Your fingers found my clit, circling lazily. "Now, are you going to ride me or do I have to beg?"
I straddled you right there, sinking down onto your half-hard cock until it stiffened inside me again. My hair fell around us like a curtain as I started to move, my hips rolling in that rhythm you'd fantasized about months ago. Up and down, up and down, my hair undulating in sync with every bounce.
"You pictured this," I whispered, leaning close to your ear. "Tell me it's better than you imagined."
"Fuck, Isis. It's so much better."
I rode you until my thighs burned and your cum dripped down my legs. I rode you until you groaned my name like a prayer and a curse. And when we finished, when I collapsed against your chest, you kissed my forehead and said, "Best investment the company ever made was hiring you."
I laughed, breathless and sticky. "You didn't hire me for my spreadsheets."
"No," you admitted, squeezing my ass. "I hired you for this."
And honestly? Worth it. Every goddamn bit.