Anything for Him: at Wor

Anything for Him: at Work

I

At 34, Jane Martin had begun to wonder if both sex and men were slightly over-rated. She had always liked sex and had had a fair amount of it, starting with a boyfriend whose cock she had sucked almost every day for her whole senior year of high school and to whom she had given her virginity, and then with quite a few more boys in college and in her first few years of living on her own. It had all been fine, and sometimes better than fine, but also disappointing somehow. The very first time that she had sucked her first boyfriend's cock, she had surprised herself by how much she liked it—there was something about kneeling there in front of him on the family room floor—but it had weirdly gotten less good as time went by, and neither he nor any of the other boys she sucked off or slept with had really seemed to know what to do with her enthusiasm. They were glad to have a mouth and a pussy to fuck—and one of them even persuaded her to take it up the ass one time—and she had a good enough time and usually came pretty hard when she was getting fucked. But she somehow felt as if there was something much more powerful inside of her, waiting to be awakened, and neither she nor any of these clueless boys really knew how to do it.

Her most intense orgasms—the only really intense orgasms that she ever had—all came when she was by herself. For the last few years she had pretty much stopped sending out the necessary signals to win male attention, though she could have gotten plenty if she'd wanted. She was a good-looking woman with pretty all-American features, medium-brown hair, and a trim figure, just juicy enough to look voluptuous if she wore the right clothes, but not so much that she couldn't keep it under wraps in her business clothes. And she did now keep it under wraps, both at work and everywhere else, contenting herself with internet porn and regular masturbation sessions.

Recently, even these private times had begun to be a little less exciting. She still had her favorite dildos, one that filled her pussy just right, and then another one, with realistic ridges and a slit, for her mouth. She was a little embarrassed even to think about that second one, about the way that she seemed to come so much harder when she was licking and sucking on it. But she still used it, and even toyed briefly with the idea of sending away for an expensive fake cock on the internet that was supposed to shoot out real come. That was the thing, though. She knew that it wouldn't be real, that none of it was quite real, and it was getting harder and harder to really give herself to her fantasies as she got surer and surer that they would never come true.

And then it all changed. His name was Dave—but then it didn't really matter what his name was because from the first time she saw him walking down the hall at the small public relations firm where they both worked, he was just Him, the man she couldn't get out of her mind. In fact, he wasn't much more than a boy—just 25 when everything started—and she never did know what it was that she had recognized in him at that first glance. Or maybe he had recognized something in her.

In any case, she saw him walking down the hall, a handsome, boyish, dark-haired guy, not that tall—about 5'11"—but somehow looking taller because he had that long, lean swimmer's build that she had always been drawn to. But there was nothing boyish about his eyes or about the look that he gave her when their eyes met, when his gaze lingered on hers for just a second longer than seemed necessary, and when he smiled confidently at her and gave her a short, sharp nod. Before she knew or understood what was happening, she looked quickly down, away from his gaze, and she felt her knees weakening and a strange warmth in her lower belly.

She tried to laugh it off and gradually regained her composure, but when she was introduced to him a few hours later as they entered a staff meeting, and when he smiled that smile again, and took her hand, and said, "Yes, Jane and I have already seen each other," she felt herself melting inside and looked quickly down, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second. Only this time, when she looked down she found herself staring at his crotch for a long few seconds, in the course of which she could almost swear that she saw the faint, long outline of his cock thickening and twitching.

It was lucky for her that she was able to sit down right away and that she didn't have anything to do or say at the meeting, because the rest of the hour was a strange, intense blur, in which she was conscious of nothing but the hot moisture of her pussy and the thrilling sound of his voice when he spoke up, as he did several times. Without knowing quite what he said, she could tell that he was extraordinary—smart, imaginative, and so oddly confident for a young guy on his first day. He had been hired into a position a clear notch above her own middle management job, which would ordinarily have pissed her off, given his age and inexperience, but which now didn't bother at all, because it was so clear that he was a truly special person—and because it felt so right that he should be in a position of power over her.

It was a whole week later before they had a real conversation, but she didn't even wait until lunch-time before she started masturbating to the thought of him and to the remembered sound of his voice. She'd never touched herself at work before—she'd always needed all of her toys and some serious time to fantasize for a satisfying session—but on this day she rushed to the ladies room as soon as the meeting was over to be alone with her thoughts and to remove her soaked panties and plunge her fingers into her pussy. She held two fingers deep in her pussy and rubbed her clit with her thumb and remembered what he had looked and sounded alike. And then she thought of that thickening cock under his pressed pants, and came convulsively, as hard as she had ever come, struggling desperately not to make too much noise. Without even thinking about it, she then did something she had never done before, removing her fingers from her pussy and licking them thoroughly and eagerly clean.

It wasn't until she worked her way up to her finger-tips and began teasing at the end of them with her tongue that she realized what she was really doing. She was licking his cock clean in her mind, savoring every taste of the pussy juice that had collected on it in her daydream fuck. And when she thought about that, she had to come again, this time just diddling her clit for a few seconds until she got back over the orgasmic peak that she had only just come down from. Holding her soaked panties tightly in her fist, she emerged from the stall to a slightly amused look from a female colleague. She could only manage a quick, embarrassed smile and then she almost ran back to her office. She didn't wash her hands because she wanted to smell and lick them again when she got there.

It was a whole week before he called her into his office, a whole week in which she made herself come two or three times every night and at least once or twice in the course of the work day, spinning more and more elaborate fantasies about Him, working her favorite dildo wildly in and out of her pussy, sucking on that pretend cock for all she was worth, and after the first two days working a new dildo in and out of her asshole, too. She'd never craved anything up her ass before, but there was something so compelling about this new set of fantasies that she had to keep pushing farther and finding new things to do to herself. She licked the pussy dildo clean now after she came—something that she'd never done before. She'd even felt a faint pull in the direction of the asshole dildo, but that just seemed gross and crazy, so she didn't put it into her mouth. For now, anyway. She thought about him so intently and so constantly that she could hardly believe he didn't know about it—if only by some new kind of sexual telepathy. But then again, she couldn't bring herself to look directly at him, so how would he know?

But somehow he did, and when she got the first email from him, the one that just said, "My office, please; now", she knew that something important was going to happen. She walked down the hall; at least she supposed she did—she couldn't remember later anything that happened between reading the email and finding herself in his office. She closed the door behind her, which was odd but felt clearly right to her. And she stood there in front of his desk with her eyes lowered, waiting for him to speak. For about five agonizing seconds, he didn't say anything and she was suddenly afraid, wondering if her behavior would seem bizarre to him, wondering if the hopes that she had only half-formed on the way down the hall were going to be disappointed. But then he spoke, quietly and distinctly.

"Jane, I'm going to take a bit of a chance with you, but I think we have an understanding." She couldn't lift her eyes still, but she managed to whisper a "Yes," still not knowing for sure what he meant but feeling that she just needed to give herself to the experience.

"Since the first moment I looked at you," he went on, "you've reminded me powerfully of somebody I used to know, somebody with whom I had a very special relationship. You don't look much like her—you're much prettier, in fact—but you send off the same vibes somehow, and you send them off very powerfully. As I say, I'm taking a bit of a chance, I guess, but I really think it's all right, don't you?"

Jane mustered a bit more voice this time and looked shyly up for a second at his eyes, which were focused boldly on her, and said, "Yes; yes I'm very sure that it's all right." She looked down again, but her senses were on high alert, and she heard him swivel his chair to the side. And then, almost as if she were willing him to say it, she heard his voice again, in a new and deeper tone.

"Come over here, behind my desk, Jane; and kneel down."

Just a short week ago, it would have seemed completely unbelievable to Jane that she would follow such an order—submitting herself unquestioningly to a man she barely knew, and doing it at work, in an office where the door wasn't even locked. But now she almost raced over, never thinking to lock the door because He hadn't told her to and because she didn't want to do anything but fall to her knees in front of him.

And now, when she knelt down, it was like a dream, a dream that she'd been having every night for a week. There it was in front of her, the cock she'd been imagining, his cock, still in his pants, but unmistakably swollen and hard. She strained forward, trembling as she knelt there, but still didn't do anything until she heard him speak again. "Now, Jane, do just what you want. I'll tell you how you're doing."

With trembling hands, she undid his belt and unzipped his pants, spreading them apart to reveal his hard cock straining at his boxers where—Jane couldn't help noticing with excitement—there was already a large wet spot showing through at the head. She slipped her fingers eagerly into the fly opening of his boxer and pulled it free. It wasn't the biggest cock she had ever seen—though it was close, a lovely, full thick 8"—but for some reason that Jane didn't understand and didn't question, it was absolutely the best cock she had ever seen, the most beautiful and powerful, perfectly shaped, the cock that she'd been waiting for without even knowing it. She didn't exactly say all of that to herself, but she knew it all, then and afterwards, knew it in the two seconds that it took her to dip her head down, swirl the glistening come at the tip with her tongue, wrap her lips firmly around the mushroom head, and then slide those loving lips down almost to the base, until she felt the head pressing deep into her throat, deeper than she'd ever taken any cock.

Why she didn't gag was a mystery. But she didn't. It was as if she was learning how to deep throat a cock—something that she'd kind of toyed with earlier but never worked at or mastered—all in one deep stroke. She held his cock deeply in her mouth, savoring it, and then lifted her head again up the whole length of the shaft, working her tongue eagerly over it as she went, giving special attention to the sensitive, oozing head of it, and then plunging her mouth back down again, even deeper this time, amazingly enough, and repeating the whole delicious motion again and again deliriously, for she didn't know how long—but probably only a minute or two—until she felt his firm hand on the back of her head, guiding her urgently up and down, but varying the pace and depth now to suit his pleasure. She followed his guidance instinctively—not that she had any choice, he was gripping her with such strength—and in just a few more strokes she could feel a kind of deep vibration through the shaft as he began to come. He eased her head almost, but not quite off his dick. He wanted still to be in her warm, wet mouth as he came, but to splash the come onto her tongue where she would taste it.

And she did taste it, jet after jet of it, as big a load as she'd ever swallowed, and tasting like—she didn't know what—just the taste that she'd been craving forever and that she now would do anything to have again, and again. She knew that she'd done a very good job on his cock—all of that hot come proved it—but she was listening again now for his voice as she gently licked at the sensitive head, making sure that there was no more come to be savored and that she had completed her task to his satisfaction. She was yearning for his approval, she realized, both because it suddenly seemed more important than anything else to please him and because she desperately needed to know that she'd have the chance to please him again. He had groaned deeply as he came, and she realized with a shock that she was whimpering and moaning, too, pretty loudly in fact, and straining for her own orgasm, which she knew would flood over her if she could touch just one finger to her rigid little clit. In fact, incredibly enough, she realized that she might come even without touching herself if she got one more taste of his come or, almost more important, an approving word from him.

And then her wishes came true again as he spoke out low and huskily. "That was lovely, Jane. You did very well." He was controlled and commanding, but she was thrilled to hear the excitement in his voice, too, and she knew that she had satisfied him deeply. Then he told her to take off her panties and leave them with him—"I want to feel what it did to you to suck my cock"—and he gave her one more gift. "And while you're taking your panties off, why don't you just touch yourself for one minute and let's see what happens. In a flash, Jane reached up to take the hot wet crotch of her panties in one hand and pull them down, wriggling them over her knees to hand to him. And just as quickly her hand was back on her pussy, working the swollen pussy lips in her fingers and just touching at her clit with her thumb. Within a few seconds she was shaking violently, heaving and coming as she had never come before, lurching forward impulsively in hopes of taking his cock back into her mouth again as she came. But he was already standing, zipped up and composed. He smiled down at her, there in a heap on the floor with her skirt worked up to her waist, her thighs soaked with pussy juice and a dazed look on her face. "You'll be hearing from me, Jane." And then he walked out the door, leaving her to assemble herself as best she could and totter back to her office.

II

Within a few days, she couldn't remember or imagine a time when she hadn't been obsessed with his cock. He took her cell phone number that first afternoon and then texted her with instructions after that. He liked to start the day by coming in her mouth, sometimes in his office, sometimes in his car, sometimes in a basement supply closet that didn't seem to get much use. He texted her the time and place, and she was always there early, kneeling and shaking with anticipation. If there was time, she would lick and kiss him worshipfully from his balls to his belly, nuzzling hungrily at his musky creases, whimpering with pleasure over and over, teasing both him and herself with small lickings and suckings of his cock before she finally couldn't stand it—or before he gave her a quick command—and she got down to the serious business of working her mouth up and down his shaft until he filled it with come. Every time was more exciting than the last; every mouthful of come was the best she had ever tasted. She couldn't believe it, but she just kept wanting him more and more.

Most days he used her several times, sometimes for a quickie in his office in the middle of the morning, almost always at lunch, and then one last time before leaving for home. She never wore panties to work—after the first day she knew that without being told—so when he fucked her pussy on the second day, he only had to nod at his desk and she was bent over it with her skirt up and her moist pussy waiting eagerly for him. He was slow and steady the first time, filling her deeply and making her come twice before he finished himself. It was an incredible fuck, her best ever by far, but even as his wonderful cock filled her pussy she was missing it in her mouth. She didn't need to worry, though, because that time, and every time after, he had her lick him clean very thoroughly after he fucked her. She liked it best when he finished in her pussy just before her second come, because then she could turn around quickly and take him in her mouth to clean him off. And then she'd have her second orgasm that way, with his cock filling her mouth and without even touching herself.

For the first week he alternated pretty regularly between her mouth and her pussy, using her three or four times a day and leaving her every time filled with come and wrung out with pleasure. She was so totally satisfied by him that she didn't really need anything else, but at the same time, she was so desperate to satisfy him in every way that within just a few days she began to wonder why he wasn't fucking her asshole, too. It was so clear to her—and she hoped it was clear to him—that she would do absolutely anything for him, that it quickly began to seem odd that he wasn't taking advantage of her ass. She'd never thought that much about her asshole as a source of pleasure—that one assfuck in college hadn't made much of an impression on her. All she could remember was that it was a little bit awkward and uncomfortable and that it was over pretty fast.

But now she was suddenly thinking a lot about her asshole as a source of pleasure—his pleasure, she hoped, and then she knew that it would be her pleasure, too. She didn't know how to bring it up, exactly. The bizarre fact of the matter was that she didn't really know him and that they hardly spoke at all. Just a few firm words from him was all it ever took to command her instant obedience. And the most she ever risked saying to him was a meek and heartfelt, "Thank you" each time that he finished with her. That, of course, and her suppressed cries of pleasure and gratitude while he was using her. On the other hand, she felt in some other way that he knew her completely and that he must know how ready she was to give him her asshole if he would only ask for it.

The first meeting had occurred on a Monday; and the first blowjob on the next Monday after that. After he used her mouth and pussy so wonderfully through the whole work week, Jane had to endure a long and anxious weekend when she kept wondering if he would call or text her, even though she somehow knew that he wouldn't and that she wasn't going to be a part of his life away from the office.

She was sure that she had pleased him through the week and couldn't really believe that he wouldn't use her again the next week. But still, he hadn't said or promised anything after she'd finished licking him clean on Friday afternoon, and she found it hard to fight down the fear that maybe he was through with her, that maybe he'd taken what he wanted and was ready to move on. There was that tantalizing remark on the first blowjob day about the "very special relationship" with the woman she reminded him of. That sounded promising. A "very special relationship" just had to mean something that lasted more than a week. On the other hand, maybe that other woman had given him something more, or had sucked his cock even more worshipfully—though Jane really didn't see how that was possible. And then again—Jane really hated thinking about this—that very special relationship had ended, hadn't it, so she was already trying to figure out everything that she could do to make sure that this relationship would be extra special enough to last a long, long time.