What A Girls Gotta Do

Shit!

I glanced at my watch, as I urged the elevator onward to the tenth floor.

The time was 755 AM. I should be at my desk already.

If nobody wanted to get on at the other floors, I might be able to get there before my boss noticed I wasn't there yet.

Shit, come on!

I swear, this is all my boyfriend's fault. He wanted to make love this morning.

No, he didn't want to "make love." He just wanted to "fuck."

Yes, for the record, my boyfriend is black. But, to be honest, he's kind of wishy-washy. Not the type to take control. He had to beg me to fuck.

I need a real man, a man who knows what he wants, knows how to demand it and take it from me, too.

It's a pity that my boss is just the kind of man I'm looking for. Tall. Dark haired. Handsome. Strong. Authoritative. Commanding. Master of his universe. The only problem is that he's white.

What was that? Why is that a problem?

You don't know what its like being a black woman. Ladies, can I have a witness? White women think the glass ceiling is bad. We black people have a double standard about interracial dating that will make your brain explode if you think about it too much.

When a black man has sex with a white woman, black men celebrate it. But a black woman having sex with white man? Forget it. The earth might as well be tilting off its axis or something. It's something I can talk about with my fellow sister girls. But talk about interracial dating with a brother and you might as well have 9-1-1 on speed dial.

All my girl friends keep constantly asking me about him. Monica is he single? Monica what does his voice sound like?

I'm not gonna lie. I'm totally into him. But having sex with my boss is about as likely to happen as me getting invited to the shareholder's meeting. It's just one of those things where you fantasize about it, sure, but you don't actually think it's going to happen.

So anyway, here I am, running late, again, after I missed the bus and had to wait for the next one, which barely gives me enough time to walk down the street to my office building, take the elevator to the tenth floor and punch in, all before eight o'clock.

I was still out of breath, still sweating a little.

Just my luck I would have to power walk in high heeled boots.

Shit! This damn elevator is taking forever! I am so screwed.

Eighth floor. 758 AM.

My boss, Stephen Taylor, is a stickler for attendance. It's not enough he wants me there on time, but he wants me to be there 15-20 minutes before 8, so I can read up on any news from the overseas markets. One time I came in just a minute late and I didn't hear the end of it for the whole day. To that I say, Kiss My Black Ass, White Boy.

Now, just this week, I've been one or two minutes late twice already this week!

I am going to be fired. I just know it.

But maybe I can get him to not send me to Human Resources. Unfortunately, I'm not wearing his favorite outfit.

Yesterday I was. This is my boss's favorite outfit. White low-cut tank top. Tight fitting black pencil skirt. His favorite sheer stockings with the seams down the back. And finally my super expensive but super sexy Christian Louboutin black patent-leather peep-toe pumps with six inch stiletto heels and a platform.

When I wore that outfit yesterday, my boss practically undressed me with his eyes.

But today, because I was in such a damn hurry, I threw on a short sleeved white turtleneck top, black knee length A-line skirt, along with matching black leather knee high dress boots, and carried a large black leather hand bag with the strap slung over my shoulder. I hadn't done a damn thing with my hair, although last weekend I'd had it straightened.

The light for the Ninth floor came on. Come on!

Oh yeah, I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Monica. Monica Foster.

I stand about 5 foot 4, with long legs and slim arms. I still have a dancer's body from gymnastics and cheerleading in high school. My hair is jet black, past my shoulders, and naturally curly. My eyes are the color of root beer soda.

Quickly I reached into my purse and grabbed a hair band, slicked my hair back, folded it into a bun and put the hair band in place.

*ding*

By some miracle, exactly at 800 AM, the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor. And my boss wasn't here yet. Thank the Lord!

Feeling immensely relieved that I might not lose my job today, I quickly crossed the hall to my desk, and signed on to my computer while I grabbed my headset.

By another further miracle, Mr. Taylor didn't show up until 805 AM, by which time I had my system completely up. In fact I was speaking to someone as he came in.

He passed my desk, giving me a single nod and a "Good morning, Monica."

I tried not to smile at him and lost.

I was congratulating myself, thinking everything was sunshine and roses, up until about 1000 AM, when Mr. Taylor said, "Monica, can you come in here, please?"

"Yes, Mr. Taylor."

I got up from my desk, smoothing down my skirt as I took the necessary five steps to his office door.

"You needed me, Mr. Taylor?"

"Monica, you were late again."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Taylor. I was right here at my desk the whole time -"

"Monica, don't lie to me. I tried to call the office to let you know about a client coming in. And guess what? No answer."

I stood there, looking at the floor. He had me.

Mr. Taylor let the silence linger on. Then he said, "Monica. This is the third time you've been late this week."

"Yes, sir....."

"I thought you liked this job?"

"Yes, sir. I do like it."

"I can't have my personal secretary coming in late. It doesn't look good. I need you here earlier than I so that you can read up on the news, so that when I come in I'm not taken by surprise by developments."

I swallowed and looked at the floor. "Yes, sir. I know."

"I hope you also know I'm going to have to let you go."

"No! Please, Mr. Taylor, I promise I won't be late again! Please, don't fire me!"

"And what reassurance can you give that you won't be late again?"

"What can I do to make you believe me? I love this job, Mr. Taylor. I need this job. It took me five months just to find this one."

Silence fell. Uncomfortable silence.

Mr. Taylor, however, sat back in his chair, as if he were thinking. He was probably just letting me squirm before he lowered the boom.

I said, "Mr. Taylor, please, don't fire me. I'll do anything to keep this job. Anything."

Mr. Taylor looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. Then he said, "Anything, huh?"

"Anything. I'll stay late. I'll come in a whole hour earlier instead, if that's what it will take."

"I was thinking of something a little more .... personal, instead."

"What can I do, Mr. Taylor?"

"Tell me, are you wearing panties, Miss Foster?"

I swallowed. A big bag of fear dropped down in my gut. "What, Mr. Taylor?"

"I asked you a question. Answer me. Or I could just send you down to Human Resources right now."

"No. I'm not wearing panties."

"Very good. Now come here. Sit on my desk."

"Mr. Taylor, I have a boyfriend...."

"Miss Foster. Monica. Do you know how easy it would be replace you?"

"Yes, sir. I do."

"So ask yourself, how badly do you want to keep your job?"

Against my will, despite myself, I started to move.

It felt as if my body were moving all by itself. I shut off everything that made me who I was, or tried to.

My expensive boots sounded loud in the quiet room, stiletto heels clicking on the bare tile floor, as I slowly stepped forward, then moved around behind his desk.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

I could even hear my skirt swishing. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Mr. Taylor moved his chair back from his desk as I finally got behind his desk and leaned against it.

"Very good, Miss Foster." He rolled forward and put his hands on my waist.

Despite myself, a thrill coursed up my spine. "Mr. Taylor....please don't.... "

He looked up at me. "Miss Foster ...... Relax."

His eyes flicked down, then back up.

"This is quite an outfit you have on."

Despite myself, I smiled. "Thank you, sir."

He smiled as well, looking me over as he ran his hands over my hips, waist and especially my booty.

I jumped as he squeezed it.

He cracked a mischevious grin, as he reached up and squeezed my breasts.

I gasped and jumped again.

He started to push my skirt up. I obediently hopped up on his desk.

Before too long, my skirt was up around my waist. Mr. Taylor was practically having to wipe drool off his chin.

"You shave, too. Excellent."

"Of course, Mr. Taylor. Have to keep it neat. For my boyfriend."

This time he actually looked up at my face. "Your boyfriend doesn't satisfy you very well, does he?"

"What makes you say that?"

"When you get off the elevator, returning from your lunch breaks with your fellow secretaries, I often hear you speaking about it, like you think I can't or won't overhear you."

I felt a blush heat my face.

"Okay, you got me. I'm not getting any at home. Happy?"

Mr. Taylor looked at my pussy again. "This really does look like excellent pussy."

Despite myself, I smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Taylor."

"You must work out."

"Yoga and Pilates, yes, sir."

"I'll bet it's nice and tight...."

"That's what my boyfriend says."

And I gasped yet again as Mr. Taylor pulled me to the edge of his desk, roughly spread my legs and started eating my pussy!

"No! Mr. Taylor! What are you doing?!"

"Eating. Your. Pussy."

"No...... Please...."

"You want. To keep. Your job. Right?"

"Yes ... But .... Oh god .... Not like this!"

He kept munching on my pussy.

I don't know what he liked more - that it was shaved, that it, like the rest of me, was the same color as milk chocolate, or the fact that he shouldn't be doing what he was doing.

"Oh god ..... Please, stop, Mr. Taylor..... "

"Stop squirming. Shut up. I've always wanted to have black pussy and this my perfect opportunity."

And then he started again.

"Oh god .... Oh, shit! .... Oh shit, baby, you like that black pussy, don't you?"

He just kept eating my pussy!

This went on for several minutes, the only sounds being my moaning and heavy breathing, and the wet slurping noises he was making.

Then I started feeling pre-orgasmic twitching.

"Oh, shit, I'm so close! Baby, you better damn well eat the shit out of that chocolate pussy!"

He just flicked those cool blue eyes up at me, crinkled with humor.

"Ah shit! Goddamn it, baby! AAHHH!!"

Then there was silence.

I went to stand up. My legs were a little wobbly.

But Mr. Taylor said, "Where are you going?"

"I have to get back to work....."

"I'm not finished. Or should I say, you're not finished."

"Mr. Taylor, no......"

He unzipped his trousers and took his cock out. He was already erect. The skin was pale white on the shaft, pink at the head, and gleamed in the lights.

He smiled. "I think you know what to do with this. Or should I get on the phone to Human Resources?"

Damn! I hated it when he had the upper hand. So I took two hesitant steps towards him and got down on my knees.

"That's it. And make it good."

"Yes, sir......"

I couldn't believe I was doing this. But it was either let my boss have his way with me, or .....

I couldn't bear the thought of having to move back in with my mother, all because I lost my job.

So I took his cock in my hand, held it lightly but steadily, and put my mouth on it.

"Oh, shit, Monica....."

I moaned back up at him, flicked my brown eyes to look up at him, as I sucked.

"Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmmm....."

It seemed like I hadn't been at it for very long when he said, "Stand up."

"You don't like the way I suck your dick, Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes, I do. A lot. But I want to get in to that pussy."

Here I shook my head. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

Here I stood my ground. "It's very simple. Either put on a condom, or get ready to pay me part of your salary for the next eighteen years. Fire me if you want. I won't budge."

Mr. Taylor's eyes narrowed. Then he sighed. "Alright, fine. No intercourse. This time."

I smiled nastily. "There won't be a next time. Sir."

So I resumed sucking him off. In return for not being able to fuck me, I gave him the best blow job I knew how to give. Poor Mr. Taylor was reduced to making fuck faces.

"Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm."

"Oh yeah, Monica....."

"Mmmmm. Mmmm. Mmmmm!"

"Oh shit.... Gonna cum...."

"Mmmmm! Mmmm! Mmmmm!"

"Oh shit ..... OOOOhhhh yeahhhhh...."

"Mmm! Mmm! Mmmmmm......"

More silence fell. Mr. Taylor sat in his chair again. More like fell into it.

I stood up, smoothing my skirt back down. "Do you still want to make that call to Human Resources, Mr. Taylor?"

"No, that won't be necessary, Miss Foster. I believe we've reached an understanding?"

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again."

"I certainly hope not."

"Will that be all, Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes. That will be all, Miss Foster."

"Very good, sir. And you might want to clean that lipstick off your dick."

"Get back to work, Miss Foster."

"Yes, Mr. Taylor."