Office Assistant

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The new girl at work caught my eye and turned my head. It wasn’t that she was particularly attractive, she wasn’t. But she looked exotic and had an air of vulnerability I liked.

Her name was Yasmeen and even though she was of Arabic decent, she told us that her family had been Christian. When she was four, her parents had died. A Western family had adopted her and all she remembered was growing up in America.

Yasmeen had wide shoulders and blocky hips. She was small breasted and her legs were a bit too heavy. This unfortunate combination of features gave her an almost masculine appearance. She was soft spoken though, and as I worked closely with her I saw she was intelligent and articulate.

That was really the problem. Where it all began. I had to work closely with her.

Yasmeen was twenty-five and had just been hired by the company. I was forty and senior staff. It was my job to train her, to teach her everything I knew. If I didn’t train her well, or the next one after her, I’d never get the advancement I wanted. Yasmeen was to be my replacement, at least when she had more experience.

At first I was disappointed. Good-looking babes with great knockers can be smart and efficient workers, too. Can’t they? Why did we have to hire this… this… singularly unattractive young woman?

Then I worked with her. She asked good questions. She followed the flow of my thoughts. More organized by nature than I, Yasmeen’s addition quickly had our department doing better work than before.

Not that she was that good yet. It was more that we were that good together. Her strengths fit my weakness and my strengths fit hers.

Yasmeen wanted to be a writer and the job entailed a lot of writing. That’s why she took the job we offered, even at the ridiculously low salary starting out.

“If I wanted to be rich, I wouldn’t want to be a writer,” she had laughed softly by way of explanation.

Everything about her was soft. That’s what I had come to find out. Our office space was crowded and several times we bumped against each other in passing. Accidentally brushing against her buttocks for just a moment, my hand registered its texture instantly before shying away. So soft! But wonderfully firm as well.

Her feelings were soft, too; a woman’s tender feelings. We were standing in the hallway outside the breakroom one morning and both overheard a catty co-worker make a snide remark about the doughty dresses that Yasmeen usually wore.

“Maybe you should ask Yasmeen about the football score last night. She looks like a linebacker in that dress today.”

Yasmeen stared at me in silence, aghast for the longest moment. Then her eyes teared up. Just as one large, mournful drop began to fall, she turned sharply and skittered away.

It had happened after only two weeks of working for us and I was concerned that she might toss the towel in right there. The morning passed quietly after that, the atmosphere in our office, tense.

It surprised me when she came to me just before lunch and asked in sparse words, “Is the dress that bad?”

Yasmeen was smart and I had already grown to respect her intelligence and her worth. I couldn’t lie to her.

“It’s not the most attractive you could have worn,” I said gently.

“It’s the best I can afford for now,” she said resignedly and went back to her desk.

Looking at the clock on my desk, I could see it was almost lunchtime and we both needed some air.

“Lunch is on me today. You’ve been working hard. We both have. Let’s get out of here.”

In my car, Yasmeen was quiet, contemplative. I didn’t want to darken her mood by saying something else that might be worse.

We pulled up to the restaurant in the strip mall and I parked my car. But instead of walking to the restaurant, I turned into the discount clothier next door.

Yasmeen followed me about ten paces behind. I didn’t dare look back. If I had, she might have tried to stop me.

I briskly led her to the section that looked like women’s business attire. One of the first things I saw was a very smart looking pants set in a deep, rich brown. It was even a decent price. Without asking, I held it in front of Yasmeen. The rich, earthy hue looked very attractive against her dark complexion.

When I nodded, she looked down at the price tag and shook her head with that resigned look.

“I can’t afford this,” she said quietly, softly.

“Lunch is on me today,” I said, giving her my own resigned look of determination.

“I don’t know if I can afford that, either,” Yasmeen said cryptically.

“Then let’s call it a loan due only when you CAN afford it. No strings attached,” I said firmly. “I can’t afford to lose a valuable employee because of an office bitch.”

It was the only off-color word Yasmeen had ever heard me utter. Usually I keep my cool, especially under pressure. Very reserved. Very gentlemanly.

So she looked down at the pantsuit, her estrogen-laced brain turning, making calculations no man could cipher. Finally, she looked at me with a wry smile.

“Then let me pick out something more feminine. I’d like to look my best,” she said softly.

I watched her from far enough away to know that she was taking it seriously. When she found one thing she seemed to like rather quickly, she still searched around for something better. As she did, behind a display that separated us, I went through the ‘mad money’ in my wallet, that stash most men tuck away in hopes their wives don’t find out about it. I had three one hundred-dollar bills. I pulled out two and put them in my front pocket.

“Which of these two do you think? I can’t decide,” Yasmeen asked me. I had a definite preference. Still, it was really her decision.

Looking at the price tags obliquely, I did a rapid calculation.

“Get them both,” I said determinedly and extended my hand with the $200 visible in it. “And one more in the same price range.”

When she went through another series of mental calculations, I decided to press the issue a bit more.

“We won’t have time to sit down, so while you decide, I’m going to run next door and get us something to go. I recommend their grilled chicken salad or their cheese and mushroom burger with fries. Which would you prefer?”

Yasmeen smiled lightly and reached out, taking the money from my still extended hand.

“I’d love the burger, but you’d better get me the salad,” she said shyly.

“I’ll get one of each and we can split the fries,” I said with a devilish smile.

“I really wanted the mushrooms anyway,” she laughed low and gave me a mischievous smile.

“I’d have to wrestle you for the mushrooms,” I said lightly.

I had said it without thinking. Trying to be glib. A Freudian slip, perhaps? Yasmeen blushed a little. Possibly so did I.

“Go and let me shop, then,” she said after a moment’s awkward silence. Yasmeen didn’t say it unkindly, though. Her head was bowed demurely and she had an ambiguous, tight smile on her face.

I turned on my heals and said something completely chauvinistic like, “Just like a woman.” As I walked away, I heard a rather girlish giggle behind me that made me grin a bit more smugly as I left.

Even after I had gotten our lunches I had to wait. Typically female, Yasmeen had picked out two outfits in ten minutes and took thirty to choose the third one. As I waited outside, I saw her checking out. She was wearing my favorite of the first two.

It was a dress the same rich brown as the pantsuit I had picked out. The dress’ top tucked in snug around the waist and its skirt flared in pleats to right before her knees. While the scoop neck didn’t dip low enough to show much cleavage on Yasmeen’s small bosom, there was enough expanse of flesh to make the sight more interesting. Altogether, it was a very nice look for the office. Not too daring, but very much more feminine than the dresses that she usually wore.

It was a more pleasant afternoon than morning. We ate quickly in the lunchroom together and since we were later than usual, it was just the two of us. She smiled when I split my mushrooms with her and even laughed a little when I mocked that she’d have to arm-wrestle me for them.

Behind her small, studious glasses, Yasmeen’s eyes were bright and impish as we ate. The rest of the quick meal was quiet. I enjoyed that about Yasmeen. When there was no need for words, she didn’t clutter the air with chatter like some people do.

We worked hard all afternoon. She was very receptive to everything I had to show her. Yasmeen had always been bright. Throughout the afternoon though, she soaked up information impressively and retained it all whenever I quizzed her about what she had learned.

I’m usually the last to leave. Today, the day went by so quick it was five-thirty before I knew it. I looked out and there were only two cars in the parking lot outside my window, my newer one and Yasmeen’s old clunker.

She was out of the office, so I went back to what I had been concentrating on, but before I could get into it, Yasmeen interrupted me by returning.

“Could you please stand up, Mr. Williams?” I heard her soft voice say beside my desk. I never had been able to convince Yasmeen to call me by my first name - Mark.

As I rose, she said, almost whispering, “I don’t know how to do this. You’ll have to train me.”

“Do what, Yasmeen?” I asked earnestly.

“Properly thank you,” she replied quietly.

“I told you that…” I began, but my words were interrupted when Yasmeen stepped forward and her lips met mine very gently.

My eyes closed automatically and my knees buckled just a bit, increasing the pressure of our two pairs of lips. If I had expected it, I would probably have denied her somehow. This was a crazy, dangerous thing to do. I was married, happily. She was new and under evaluation, being scrutinized by all our co-workers. I had so much to lose.

But her lips were very soft. She tasted exotic somehow, like sandalwood and cloves. Before I could think, my arms were around her waist, trying to pull her hips toward me.

Except her hand was in the way. With a soft touch, her small hand began to caress my groin. My cock stiffened quickly under her deft touch. She reached lower, massaging my balls gently, causing my breath to come quick and shallow.

As her arm moved fluidly up and down the front of my trousers, her manner was one of questioning resignation, reinforcing that she was waiting for instruction.

“Unzip me,” I heard myself saying in a more commanding tone than I would normally express.

We were looking into each other’s eyes as she fumbled with my zipper. Just like everything else I was teaching her at work, I gave her instructions and allowed her to find her own way unless she asked for further help. Eventually we both heard the zipper’s noisy release. Then I felt Yasmeen’s nimble hand reaching inside.

It took her a moment to figure out the fly of my boxers without my help or without her looking down. Her awkward efforts had their own appeal, however. I sensed her unspoken frustration and just before it became panic her fingers slid in and wrapped around my shaft. Yasmeen’s eyes became large, her pupils dilating slightly as I stared into them, transfixed.

Had she been more experienced, she could have extracted my cock without loosening my belt and waistband. But hard as I was and as confined as the space, she could have only done that by tugging and bending it more than she was prepared to do. As she reached for my belt I stopped her and, covering the hand that still grasped me, assisted her in exposing my stiff erection.

Finally Yasmeen looked down and there was a trace of anxiety in her young face. She must have been very inexperienced to be so intimidated by what she saw. Perhaps my cock was longer than she expected. At eight inches, it is a little longer than average. Perhaps it was the swollen, angry color of the circumcised crown. It was engorged and a dusky, burnt red tinge even darker than Yasmeen’s own complexion.

Still, as I leaned back against my desktop, the young girl didn’t shy away. With my hands I steered her to my chair and then pulled her closer until she was almost right on top of my lap.

“Lick it,” I insisted.

Yasmeen tentatively stretched her tongue and neck, but it was too high for her to easily reach. She licked the middle of my shaft upward and the tip of her tongue barely swirled over the top, grazing the uppermost part of my cock with its underside. I reached down and assisted her, showing her she could bend it further out without hurting me so that it pointed more directly at her mouth. Yasmeen blushed; embarrassed that she had to be shown such a simple thing. Or, perhaps it was a flush of excitement, because she soon took the whole head into her small mouth, stretching her lips wide to accommodate my girth.

As pleasant and appealing as the sight was, Yasmeen had me aroused and anxious for release already. With my left hand gently on her shoulder, I encouraged her to remain in place while my right hand showed her how to rhythmically stroke the hard shaft.

She caught the not-so subtle hint. Yasmeen was a smart girl and she could see her touch was exciting me quite a bit. Even so, I wanted to be a gentleman, especially to an inexperienced girl.

“I’m going to climax soon,” I warned her between sharp breaths. “I’d like to. In your mouth. Be careful. Of that pretty dress. Though.”

I’d like to think she knew what she was doing. She certainly seemed anxious for the experience. She tried to shove too much of my cock down her throat, so I had to move quickly to keep her from gagging.

Backing up to where she had just a little more than the crown, I encouraged her to finish it.

“Almost Yasmeen,” I panted. “Gonna fill your mouth. So good, baby. So beautiful.”

Leaning back, I let the tension mount until I felt like I was burning from within. Then, clenching my buttocks hard against the desktop, I shot hot spurt after hot spurt into my young assistant’s inexperienced mouth. Her shocked eyes were momentarily dazed, but soon she was gulping and swallowing all that I could feed her. Her hand, having paused as my cock had first pulsed in climax, began flailing excitedly, as though to milk ever possible drop from my tool.

I had to reach down, even as the sensations threatened to overcome me, to stop her fist. When I had, and as I went from spurting semen to oozing it, Yasmeen slid even more of her mouth onto my prick, her small tongue working eagerly to stimulate the underside as I filled her mouth and my cum dribbled almost directly down her throat.

She was amazing. Even after I pulled her off of me, I continued to stare at her, amazed by the sudden depth of passion she had shown. Yasmeen smiled her lopsided smile, then wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand in a very sensual way.

Pulling her up to me, I kissed her, tasting myself mixed with her exotic flavor. Even having just climaxed, the smell of her and the texture of her soft skin against my hands as I caressed her, made me want more.

“Switch places with me,” I instructed the young woman.

She hesitated just a moment, almost rebelling for the first time since this scene had started. With firm hands guiding her elbows though, I showed Yasmeen that I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

As the girl leaned against my desktop, I wrapped my hands around her wide hips and pressed my face against the middle of her skirt. She smelled exotic there as well, even through the fabric of her new dress. With my fingers, I crept the back of the skirt up until it rested on the desk behind her. Then I leaned Yasmeen further back on the desktop.

When I raised her skirt, I was surprised to see her naked underneath! I knew I had seen a panty line earlier as she bent over her desk. I wanted to think she had taken them off in anticipation. In any case, the sight before me was a delicious one.

Yasmeen had full, fleshy vaginal lips. More than I had ever seen outside of photographs. Her pubic hair was sparse, but the strands were long and silky. Reflexively I spread her legs open and dipped down, running my tongue along her moist groove and tasting her wonderful flavor. She felt hot against my tongue and tasted spicy. When she moaned loudly, I sucked in a bit of those full lips and gummed them as the young woman began to toss her head from side to side.

But, as wonderful as she tasted, that wasn’t what I wanted.

Pulling back and leaning upright, I rolled my chair closer toward the desk and between Yasmeen’s widespread legs. With my right hand palm up, I slowly eased one long, extended middle finger deep into the young woman’s wet vagina as she sat on my desk looking down into my eyes.

Yasmeen’s eyes were dark and moist. As I fingered her, she stared back into mine, seeming to experience the same depth of emotion and the same connectedness I was feeling when looking at her. When I pulled almost all the way out and pressed two close-pressed fingers back into her tight cavity, my assistant became more aroused and the arms that were stretched behind her to keep her upright began to shake noticeably.

With my thumb, I teased the hard bud of her clitoris. My left hand combed those silky black hairs and then splayed her labia out further as I began to stroke faster in and out with the right. Yasmeen moaned and whimpered. Her moisture began to run and a small drop fell and puddled on my desktop. Soon another and then another joined it.

My fingers delved and plunged deep. My thumb and off hand continued to stimulate her. Yasmeen groaned, letting out a sharp guttural bark as her stomach muscles constricted. Then she climaxed intensely, her whole body becoming suddenly rigid! Her wet sheath gripped my fingers so tightly that I could only bury deep inside her. Still I worked them furiously inside her, using the last flexible joint to stroke her pleasure spot with the only bit of wiggle room her tightness would afford.

When her body finally relaxed somewhat, I withdrew my fingers and pressed my hand firmly against her vulva as the sensations continued to spark little fires randomly inside her that very gradually all died down. We continued staring into one another’s eyes, fascinated by what we had discovered about each other in just this one day’s time.

“You really are a beautiful woman, Yasmeen,” I told her earnestly.

She sighed and smiled in that tolerantly cryptic way she had. Then, Yasmeen unconsciously went to straighten up her skirt. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped abruptly. Then, my girl brazenly pulled the pretty skirt higher to expose herself to me once more.

“No, I am not beautiful, Mr. Williams,” she stated simply but with great dignity. “But I am yours. Whenever and however you want me.”

On the way home, I realized that Yasmeen had left her older, more doughty dress in my car by accident. I’ll hold on to it for a while. It has a certain sentimental value to me now. The tag inside, however, gave me the size of dress to surprise her with on payday. Or perhaps some lingerie. Or maybe some perfume. Something nice and exotic. Like my new assistant.