Good morning, Mr. Gill. Which item on the agenda would you like to go over first?" I sat in my office chair and yawned at my reflection in my glass of orange juice. 7:00 am was not my friend. "Uh, lets begin with the status of the renovations on my properties." I'm Donovan Gill, nice to meet you. I own a small but lucrative real estate firm that I run out of my home. I came to realize in my second year that misplacing contracts and missing meetings was bad for business, so I needed an assistant. I'd asked around with my contacts and done some independent research, and one name consistently came up: Catherine H. Storm. She's pricey, but her reputation is more than well earned.
She's pretty firm about separating her personal and professional life, but I've learned a little after 3 years working with her. She's 34, about 5'10", originally from Minnesota and maybe 130 pounds or so with strong Scandinavian features. She earned an MBA and a PhD in psychology by the time she was 25, she enjoys wine and italian food, owns a husky, stays fit with Krav Maga and goes to a shooting range occasionally. She allows herself a few vanities: manicures, pedicures and a touch of lipstick. The combination of which, on her near flawless skin, have this quiet sexiness about them.
Catherine (or Cathy, as I secretly call her in my head) always wears her brunette hair in a loose bun held together with a Cross pen when she's working. Today she was wearing a black pinstriped blazer with a matching skirt (cut just above the knee) and a silky white blouse, more or less her usual outfit. There were a few twists today, though; she had on these dark pantyhose with a seam on the back, black high heels and a hint of this intoxicating perfume that smelled like lilacs. She sat a few feet back from my desk, leaned back slightly, legs crossed and dangling her shoe off her right foot, making little circles in the air. God, I was getting harder by the second.
"...travertine countertops are slightly delayed due to a...Mr. Gill, I can come back when you're less...distracted." Quickly darting my eyes up, I saw she was shooting me a slightly annoyed look over the gold, circular frames of her glasses. While I was ogling my way up from her curvaceous calves to her powerful thighs to her trim waist and stopping at her round, heavy C cup breasts, she was maintaining her composure until it became obvious that I was "...overwhelmed by the view, Mr. Gill?" Crap, I got caught daydreaming again! After the electric heat wave of embarrassment washed over me and I gulped in my dry throat, I managed to stammer out, "Um, sorry, Cathy." I froze solid. My eyes went wide with fear and my hard-on went soft as could be. I knew if there was anything she hated, aside from being underestimated by men, was being called "Cathy". I had pretty much done both in the span of a few minutes!
My head was spinning with worst-case scenarios: she's going to quit, she's going to spread my name as a pervert, she's going to sue me for sexual harassment, oh God... As I began to open my mouth to sputter out a more sincere apology, she shocked me to my core by first smirking and then chuckling a bit! The confusion in my expression must've been clear as day. She stood up out of her chair, smoothed her skirt, walked over to my desk and I watched as she placed a perfectly manicured finger to my lips. My cock twitched.
"Mr. Gill," she said, "may I call you Donovan?" I silently nodded, her finger still on my lips. She locked onto my gaze with her mesmerizing caramel eyes and said, "Donovan, I've been doing this for 8 years, and I've had a variety of clientele. I have no illusions about my looks. I know I'm gorgeous and I work hard to keep it that way." "The men I've worked for typically confuse wealth with virility and thusly feel free to harass me as they see fit. I'm a professional; my solution is typically to quit the assignment and bill them extra, noting that it is cheaper than a sexual harassment lawsuit." My eyes began widening, but she pressed her finger firmer and continued, "In this case, I'm willing to make an exception. Professionally, I am a bit disappointed by your behavior. Personally, I find you to be a rather handsome and intelligent man who has been respectful from day one." Her eyes traveled downward as she said, "Also, don't think I haven't noticed your rather sizable...tumescence in these early morning meetings."
Her smirk turned into a wicked smile as she pushed her finger into my mouth. I looked into her eyes, still a little disbelieving at what was happening, but I started to suck on her finger, my cock growing steadily harder. She calmly cleared some space on my desk with her free hand, then climbed up on it, stopping once she was sitting facing me. "Understand, Donovan, that I don't intend to let this impact our professional relationship." She gasped a little as I ran a finger down the soft nylon covering her inner thigh. "But depending on how this goes," she said, "we can make this a regular part of your schedule. And by the way, you may call me Cathy when we--" I took her finger out of my mouth and said, snarling with lust, "Say 'fuck'. SAY it." "Fuck," she said. "Are we clear on this?" I was massaging and spreading her legs. "Oh God, yes," I replied. "Good," she said, her breathing growing faster.
There was so much of her to explore, I just didn't know where to begin. Nearly from the moment she sat in front of me I had unzipped the sides of her skirt and had undone the buttons on her blazer. While I was working on her blouse, she had kicked off a shoe and was rubbing my hardness through my pants with her foot. It felt so good it made me pause. I quickly unzipped my pants and brought my cock out. I looked up at her and she raised an eyebrow and nodded her head in approval. She kept rubbing it as I reached my hand into the darkness of her skirt. I had expected to feel satin, lace, maybe silk. All I felt was a small patch of hair, and a wetness that coated the tips of my two fingers.
I looked up with a wicked smile of my own; this was her plan! She saw the look of clarity on my face and giggled a little. Sly, very sly! I pushed my fingers in and out of her, curling them now and then, hitting her g-spot and making her gasp. I brushed her clit with my thumb, getting more excited every time it made her moan. I pulled my fingers out of her and tasted them. God, the scent was thrilling me. The taste drove me absolutely wild! I roughly hiked her skirt up to her waist and pushed her back on the desk with an animal drive to ravage her. I looked down at her with a fire in my eyes, taking in her lace top pantyhose, the smooth skin of her thighs, the plump pussy lips and trimmed patch of brunette hair staring up at me.
I dove in, lapping in her sweetness as deeply as my tongue would let me, only coming up to gasp for air, to lick and suck on those juicy lips or her hard clit. I was like a starving man, craving the taste of her femininity and enraptured at the chance to have it. She grabbed my head to push me further inside, straddling my face and enveloping my head in her phenomenal thighs as she came for the first time. She loosened her grip on my head and I released my grip on her thighs for just a moment to finger her til they were coated in her juices. I brought my fingers to her mouth so she could taste the heaven that had flooded my mouth. The sensation of her sucking on my fingers, her clit on my tongue, her foot rubbing my cock, the sights, the scents; it was all too much for me. I came for the first time, much of it landing on my desk and carpet, some on her foot.
