(This is the third chapter in the ongoing story of Rick Martin, a workaholic, just out of a failed relationship who wakes up one morning to find he's a character in a 1980's porn movie. You can check out the first two chapters if you are a fan of blowjobs from slutty French maids, or enjoy reading about hot women in the workplace getting reamed over the boss's desk, but from a strictly intellectual standpoint you shouldn't need to read either chapter to follow the action. Remember, this is porn, not rocket science.)
*
Tiffany wiped the remains of my cum off of her face, smoothed her miniskirt back into place, and left me slumped against the desk. Just before she slipped through the door, she turned back at me, her eyes sparkling mischievously and blew me a kiss. It wasn't until she closed the door that I really got a chance to try to make sense of my current situation.
I couldn't be a character in an old porn movie. That theory flew in the face of common sense, not to mention the very physical laws of the universe. Movies weren't a place you could go to. They were images captured on film, and in this case transferred to a DVD. There was no possible way for me to be in a movie.
That is what common sense told me. On the other hand, in the past two hours I had received an amazing blow job from a French maid in a suburban track house, and just had anal sex for the first time with I women I had never met before on the very desk I was now leaning against. If that wasn't proof something was up, then the still impressive but flaccid cock draped across my leg could also make a strong argument for me not being in Kansas anymore.
I could have chalked everything up as dream, but that would ignore the fact that my dick was sticky. Dreams are a lot of things, but the one thing they are not, is sticky.
Well, I still had no clue as to what was happening but I decided I had to do one thing regardless of my situation; I needed to pull my pants up.
I reached over and pulled up my tight polyester pants, stuffing my trouser snake down the left leg. I looked down at my shirt, and was shocked to find all the buttons were right where they were supposed to be. What the Hell? I had just watched those buttons go flying when Tiffany had ripped my shirt open, and now they were all back in a neat row. Well almost all of them. The top three buttons were missing, which resulted in me flashing a healthy glimpse of my newly thickened chest hair.
I decided maybe this office would hold some clues as to just where I was. The top of the cheap desk I was leaning against was basically empty except for a blotter and a framed picture that Tiffany must have knocked over during our 9:00 meeting. I lifted the picture up and found myself looking at the auburn haired woman who had made me get dressed and come to work this morning. The woman who had called me "son"; In the picture she was showing off a man sized helping of her amazing cleavage, and smoldering bedroom eyes. I put the picture face down on the desk. For some reason I didn't want to feel this woman's eyes on me, even when those eyes were starring out of a cheap photo.
There were four drawers on the desk and I examined each one. Their contents were as follows: empty, empty, empty, and empty.
I remembered that report Tiffany had used to get me into the office, and walked over to the wastepaper basket. All I found was a manila file folder and maybe 20 blank sheets of typing paper.
I walked over to a shelf lined with books. The titles on the spines looked exactly like what you would expect to see in an executive's office, "titles like Maximizing Supply Management Operations", "Project Management Theory", and "Leadership, Getting the Most out of Your Employees". For some reason I felt a sense of relief just seeing the titles of these books. They were the first things I had seen all day that made any sense, and the first things I had seen that you wouldn't find in a cheap 80's porno movie.
I pulled the project management book off the shelf and opened it up. The printing on the table of contents was a little blurry, but it looked exactly like what you would expect to find to find in a business manual. On the page next to it was an extensive listing of all the tables and graphs in the book. I flipped to a random page in the middle of the book and my eyes almost popped out of head.
I found myself looking at a full page glossy shot of a young brunette, with short curly hair and firm round tits, laying nude on a chaise lounge with a huge dildo buried to the hilt in her slick pussy. There was another picture on the next page; the brunette was still fucking herself with dildo, her head was thrown back, eyes closed and her mouth was a round O of pure lust, but a tall blonde woman was standing over the brunette wearing nothing but a pair of bright scarlet red high heels.
I turned the page, and found myself looking at another glossy picture. The blonde was sucking the brunette's juices off of the dildo, taking it deep down her throat like she was sucking a fat cock. In the next picture the blonde had descended to the chaise lounge and had her tongue buried in the brunette's juicy cunt. The brunette had drawn her legs back and you could see she was curling her toes. I could feel my dick start to crawl down my pants leg.
Without thinking, I turned the page. The blonde was now fucking the brunette with the dildo, as she sucked on the girl's clit. Also, there was now a well muscled stud standing over the blonde. He had a long hard cock, almost as big as the one in my pants. I looked at the next picture. The stud was kneeling behind the blonde and had that hard prick pressed up against the tip of the blonde's rosebud, poised to split those sweet ass cheeks. Just then I heard a knock at the door.
My head jerked up from the book with what I am sure was a look of abject terror, feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. I watched the handle begin to turn. I slammed the book closed and scrambled to jam it back into the bookshelf. I whipped back around just as my visitors came through the door, a man and a woman.
I think the man was supposed to look like a business executive, you know, gray streaked temples, black pinstripe three piece suit. Unfortunately, the suit looked like a Monkey Wards creation by way of your local thrift store, and while he did have gray hairs at his temples, I couldn't help noticing his hair style was your basic mullet that had been slicked back with a ton of mouse, so what he really looked like was an aging porn actor.
The woman standing next to him was a piece of work. She had to be in her 40's at least. Jet black hair the same shade as Ronald Reagan's, and she was wearing a ton of makeup. I'm not saying that she didn't look good. She had high sculpted cheekbones, full scarlet lips, and thick full eyelashes framing a pair of predatory cobalt blue eyes. She was wearing the standard issue high heels I had seen on every woman since I had woken up this morning, with sheer black stocking that made me want to run my tongue up every inch of her incredibly long legs. She was wearing what was supposed to be a demur dark skirt, and it might have been demure if hadn't been a pencil skirt, slit up the front to about an inch below the belt she had cinched around her waist. As a result this supposedly demure skirt showed off her stocking tops and offered a glimpse of her creamy thighs in the front, while molding to every curve of what was one of the most delectable mature asses I had every seen in my life in the back.
Her top matched her skirt, and the two buttons she had undone offered only a peek of what looked to be world class cleavage. The one thing I couldn't but notice about the woman's top was that it was incredibly sheer. So sheer I could tell the woman wasn't wearing a bra, and judging by her nipples she probably thought we had the air conditioner in the office turned up way too high.
The man smiled at me. "Ah, there he is. Catching up on your reading Dick?" He asked with an innocent smile, but I could feel the blood shoot up my face as I blushed scarlet.
He turned to the woman. "This is Dick Cuntington, Anastasia's son the young Turk of Cuntington Industries."
