Used by My Temp Assistant

This is a true story that happened at work about a year and a half ago. I was between assistants and had hired a temp named Jeremy. He was fine looking, but the truth is I had hired the first temp with a resume that remotely resembled what I was looking for. When he first showed up I at first thought he was a client. He was tall, dressed for success, and had a confidence about him that I wasn't used to from temps. About three days into his stint with me and we were developing a nice rapport. He was thorough, quick-paced, and had a professional disposition. He also knew how to flirt. I don't mean 'flirt' the way one does at a bar or in some other venue when the goal is to get laid. I mean the type of flirting that makes one like you, the type of flirting that disarms, regardless of the gender of the people involved. He winked a lot. He smiled. He kept busy with work.

I found myself developing a crush on him. I started to test him in ways to see if he would make a good permanent assistant. His professional qualities were impressive. And so, too, were his 'soft skills.' And, on top of it all, he was handsome, had a beautiful package (which I think he caught me checking out more than once), was young, but educated and smart. And he was growing on the rest of the staff.

One day I had an important conference call, and I instructed him that I was not to be interrupted.

I was on the phone. The other executives, who outranked me, were complaining about this, that, and the other thing. "How can we trust your division..." It was the usual grandstanding. My boss had told me that there was a growing number of people in corporate HQ who were impressed with me, and wanted to groom me for fast-track advancement. That meant there would also be a growing number of detractors, competitors, and rivals. Jeremy snuck into my office, closed the blinds, and locked the door. I was annoyed that he came into my office, but was too engrossed in the teleconference to say anything.

He walked up behind me. I felt his hands (long fingers and thin) slide around my waist, moving down sinuously to my belt. He felt my hard abs through my shirt. Then he started to unfasten my belt as his fingers deftly slid the zipper down quietly. If the guys on the other side could see though the phone line they would be shocked at my unprofessional conduct! His hands slip down to my stomach into my boxer briefs and I stifled a sudden urge to choke. Can you be serious? "Stay on the phone" he whispered, playfully with an authoritative tone. I was thoroughly distracted—both aghast and turned on by his brazenness.

His warm hands found my shaft, already half-hard, and stroked the sensitive head with his fingers. I hit the mute button: "Stop it, now!" He turned the mute off and whispered "sshh." I found it more and more difficult to pay attention to the whining on the phone, and the hand caressing my balls didn't help at all. I mumbled something in response. The notes I was taking were getting harder and harder to read...

Jeremy's hands moved faster, the left hand gently gripping my shaft and moving up and down, his thumb flicking the head of my dick on each stroke. With his other hand he gently played with my balls, rolling them from side to side. His fingernails occasionally scraped deliciously against my inner thighs. My dick was throbbing painfully, absolutely rigid and rock hard. I wanted to move my hips, but I struggled to remain professional with my colleagues. "Uh, Jaime, are you listening to me?" someone snapped.

I mollified him "yes, of course, please continue..." Thankfully, these colleagues chat on endlessly, giving me the time to enjoy the handjob. I felt Jeremy's hands move with more purpose now as he stroked me over the edge, spewing loads of hot, sweet semen shamelessly into my pants, the excess dripping down over my balls and in my boxer briefs. He rubbed the creamy flow into my balls, wiped his hands on my pants and zipped them back up.

Jeremy then unzipped his own fly and pulled out his hard, large dick—at 8 inches it was easily two inches longer than mine. He stroked it, long and hard as I tried desperately to fake my way through the conference call. His legs stiffened and his upper lip curled—I knew he was about to come. As he came, rope after thick rope of jizz shot out onto my shirt and pants. His load was huge.

I took a few deep breaths, made sure my professional tone of voice was back in shape, and finished taking care of the business of the conference call. Jeremy grinned a knowing grin at me, stood up, zipped his pants and left the office.

I sat at my desk that evening until 6:30 when I knew nobody would be at the office. That way I could leave without anyone knowing I had jizzed myself, and that I was wearing Jeremy's jizz, too. I kept Jeremy as a temp for another four weeks, but he never made another move on me. I offered him the permanent gig, which he declined. It turns out he had a serious girlfriend with whom he was about to become engaged. We didn't debrief much about what had happened. He seemed almost disinterested: as if I was a conquest with little use anymore. A wild oat he had sewn that would be filed away into his memory.