Desmond couldnât wait until lunch. After all that had gone on up until this time (Ten AM, to be precise), he thought he might sign out for lunch a little early, pick up Samantha, and the two of them could go get some barbecue and soak up some sun in Centre Park. Maybe, if it was warm enough, he could persuade her to take her shoes off. And maybe, just maybe, they could find a secluded enough spot for Sam to take off more than just her shoes.
Desâs mind reeled, thinking of the fun that they had two nights previous. He had brought home two films, the new Wesley Snipes action picture that she had wanted to see (He thought it was because she liked Wesleyâs body. Most guys would probably get jealous, but, in Desmondâs mind, anything short of her actually fucking another guy was only for the positive.) And a film called
Succubus Seduction
. It had various scenes of the usual boy-girl sex, but it had a little bit of a light bondage edge, particularly the scene where the girl ties her lover up and tongues his cock like she canât get enough. Just when it looks like the guy canât take anymore, she gives him one last flick of the tongue right on the head of his stiff prickâŠ. And proceeds to light a cigarette, telling him how wet her pussy was, how good he felt in her mouth, and what she was going to do to him once she finished her smoke.â You can have it all,â the leather and spike heeled bitch had said, âBut you have to wait for it. And watch.â At this point she slid her hand down to her naked mound and began pleasing herself. It was all Des and Sam could do not to crush each other as they pounded their way to a sweaty, chest-heaving climax.
A knock on his office door shocked him out of his reverie. âDes?â Carl Stout, Desmondâs boss and chief tormentor, leaned on the doorframe with what he thought was an ingratiating smile.â I need you to go pick up the Conley papers. Dave Conley is so far up my ass that I canât see straight. He wants to sit down with us tomorrow to discuss what we can do for him.â
âHey, why donât you get one of the couriers to do that? I am after all a VP of this place. And,â Desmond said, his voice lowering with what he hoped was an overwhelmed tone âIâm not through with the other six accounts you dropped on my desk yesterday. And the Federal review is coming next week,
and
I really wanted to get a head start on tax season. Canât you get Ronnie to do that?â Desmond could see his opportunity for a lunchtime thrill rapidly edging away.
âRonnie quit this morning to be an artist, or writer or whatever it is that he wanted to do. And, need I remind you; Conley Agriculture is our largest client. I think that merits a visit by our Senior VP, Accounting, donât you?â Stoutâs eyes had changed from guarded cheer to full-on condescension. "Des, please donât make me order you. This is important. When you come back from lunch, stop by Conley Ag, say hi to Dave, grab the boxes and bring them back here. Thanks.â Stout walked on down the hallway.
FUCK!
Already, he would be pressing it to get out for lunch, now he would have to probably work through lunch. Desmond tossed his glasses onto his desk and was about to pick up the phone to call Samantha when it rang unexpectedly.
âYes?â
âMr. St. James? Samantha on line two.â
âThanks, Roxieâ He punched the blinking button marked 2. âHey,â he sighed dejectedly.
âDesmond? Listen to me and donât talk. In about ten minutes, Carl is going to come in and send you home. I want you to go to the store, buy a bottle of good champagne, and immediately upon entering the house, hang your coat up, and take off that sexy gray suit that I bought you. Open the champagne; pour two glasses and press play on the CD player. After that, sit on the couch and wait for me.â
âWait a minute, howâŠ?â
âDes!â Samanthaâs voice was like a velvet hammer, stern but playful. âJust do what I say. Shut up and let Carl send you home, OK? I love you and Iâll see you soon. Oh, by the way, you want it all, donât you? Bye.â
Click.
Desmond looked at the phone in his hand for a second. His bewilderment cleared long enough for him to readjust his suit to accommodate the growing bulge in his pants. He could never get over the power that a few simple words from Samantha had over him. As soon as he sat down again, Carl reappeared in his doorway.
âDesmond, did your wife call you? Never mind. She called me and said she couldnât get hold of you, but she needs help at home, something urgent, couldnât wait, so she asked me to send you home ASAP.â
Des thought quickly. âProbably some kind of computer glitch or something. Are you sure you can spare me? With the Conley account and allâŠâ
âNo, you go and attend to you home life. Thereâll be plenty of work for you when you get back. Iâll send someone else for the Conley stuff. Get it worked out, and come back to work on Monday, OK? Try and have a good weekend.â Carl left the office.
What the hell did she say to him? He was nice enough about it. Oh well, fuck it.
Desmond thought as he pulled on his suit coat, scooped up his keys and shrugged into his topcoat. âRoxie, Iâm gone âtil Monday. You only call me at home if the office is burning down, all right?â
âSure, Mr. St. James.â Roxie looked at him through her round black-framed glasses. âGot a hot date?â She winked at him.
Desmond almost did a double take, but was consumed by his thoughts of Samanthaâs breasts, so he fumbled his briefcase, and stumbled out the door.
Roxie smiled to herself as the phone rang. âStout and White, may I help you?â Desmond, after stopping by the liquor store, parked in his driveway, and almost ran up the walk to his front door. All through his twenty-minute trip, all he could think about was Samantha. Naked, in lingerie, in those crazy business micro skirts she wore when she had to meet with her publisher (They drove him wild) licking chocolate off of his body, licking her lips while she watched him come.
He hung his coat in the front closet, and went about stripping off his tie, shirt and pants. âIt makes you look powerful,â she had said at Bachrachâs âYou look in control. Isnât that what you want to be?â She had whispered the last bit in his ear while they were looking in the three-paned mirror, and squeezed his cock through the pants.
Getting down to his underwear, Desmond contemplated taking them off, but decided that it would be more comfortable than having his ass stick to whatever he ended up sitting on. Besides, Samantha liked the way this particular pair of boxer briefs fit him. Des strode into the kitchen, and grabbed the champagne flutes that Sam had bought for New Yearâs last year. That holiday was special, they had rented the Presidential Suite at the Ambassador, and she wore a black silk robe that hugged her curves like sprayed on latex. She looked regal, as if she were a queen and Des her only subject. The curve of her body between her breasts and hips was almost enough for him to get off while he was just looking at her. That robe made Des want to take a bite out of her.
Desmond made his way back into the living room, popped the cork on the champagne, picked up the stereo remote and pressed play on the CD player. Steel guitar licks and an angelic male voice filled the room â
I made a bid for you, you knowâŠ
â
âWhy arenât you naked?â a voice asked behind him.
There was Samantha. Black sheer bra, he could see her large areola through the sheer fabric, breasts spilling over the top. A sheer panty to match, her dark patch was camouflaged by the black fabric. She wore black high-heeled shoes, red toenails, and the robe. For a second Des thought it odd that he could be turned on by something that was supposed to be tool of modesty. Slowly he let his eyes drift back up her voluptuous form to her face. Red red lips, parted ever so slightly. Her maple brown hair was up in some sort of twist.
âAnd you arenât sitting on the couch like I told you to, either.â Her voice carried a distinct undertone, akin to a Ferrari at a stoplight. Content to sit, but straining to break free and run.
âWell IâŠâ Des started.
âShh. Here,â Samantha picked up one of the flutes that Desmond had filled. âDrink this, listen to Chris sing, and enjoy not being at work for a little while. I think you need some refreshment.â As she handed him his drink, she let her hand trail down the front of his person, down to his waist. Her hand stopped. âSit.â
Desmond sat. At this point, just seeing her dressed that way was enough to bring him to new levels of stiffness.
âYou can take those off if you want. I donât know, though. I love the way your cock looks through your underwear, swollen like that. MmmmmâŠ.â Sam picked up her champagne, and caressed him through the thin fabric. He twitched slightly, the warmth of her hand spreading all the way to his balls. She took a drink, swallowed. He watched her throat work, heard her sigh, and thought
I have no idea whatâs going on, but Iâm down for whatever.
âIâve been thinking about that film from the other night quite a bit.â she said, still gently caressing him. âHow horny you got while she sucked his cock. How helpless he was to her touch. I want to be that for you today. I want you to have all of me. But I want you how I want you. Are you willing to do that for me?â She began to kiss his stomach, lightly squeezing his nipples. âI want to suck on you. I want your cock to fill my mouth, spread my lips apart. Eventually I want that hard thing between my legs, and I want to come all over you cock âtil it makes a wet spot we have to towel up. Does that sound like fun? Do you want to fuck me? Cause I want to fuck you. Tell me, do you want to fuck me? I want to hear it. Say it!â
Desmond shuddered, her kisses and touches making it very hard for him to talk. âSamantha, I desperately want to fuck you. Let me fuck you. Please?â
Sam smiled, white teeth shining through red lips, lasciviousness oozing out in a small giggle she let escape. âGood. Thatâs so good. Finish your drink.â Desmond gulped the Moet in two swallows, set the glass down and immediately began to grab her breasts. She shoved his hand away, and gestured toward the large pile of pillows on the floor. âLie down. And take off those underwear, theyâre only going to be in the way.â