Peronal Assistance

"What have I done? What am I doing?" I ask myself, incredulously, aloud. "What have I got myself into? What am I going to do, now?" I don't believe it. This kind of thing happens to someone else not me! My hands clench the wheel tighter and tighter, until my knuckles are white. Focus quivering; heart fluttering, pussy tingling, even now; an adrenaline shot still echoing through my veins; like an automaton, I keep the car heading in the direction of home. "I probably shouldn't be driving," I mutter, trying to gain some control. "So," aloud, once again, in an attempt to calm myself, "So, Genelise Petra Lavalle; now what?" I stare ahead at the road unraveling before me, and grimly recall the events of the past two days.

A month ago, really, things had seemed to be looking up. At 28 years old, and newly married, I had a house, a new bachelor's degree in Business Administration, and pretty good job prospects. Life was good.

Well it had felt good, generally, but, to be brutally honest, the married aspect of it all was already – is still – a little disappointing. Garry is a wonderful man – kind, sensitive – but, let's face it, a bit unimaginative. I feel bad even thinking that. "But it's true!" I admitted, to my growing despair. Too much of the mundane, too much ennui, and not enough exhilaration, not enough sky-rockets! I mean, I was a good girl for the most part before we got engaged. I had waited patiently, with the belief that sex after marriage would transcend... transcend what? All the hype? All the courting? Who knows?

I wonder, too, how much of my dissatisfaction is my fault. And what about Garry? Is he completely satisfied? I'd been pretty focused on my job search over the last few months – but it had paid off – "Hadn't it?" That question pin-balled around my head, like some malicious obfuscation pulling my thoughts away from the problem at hand.

Three and a half weeks ago I landed a pretty good-looking – very good-looking job at a small, upstart investment firm. Ryerson Growth – Exclusive Investment Consultation. Jason Ryerson, the boss / owner had explained, in the interview, that 'Big Returns for a Limited Clientele' was the motto and philosophy behind his rather successful one-man business. "Lately, though," he had said, "I've realized that I really need a Personal Assistant to take care of the office details and join in with the computer grunt work."

"I'm confident I can handle whatever you give me," I had replied, only slightly overstating my actual confidence.

"I hope so!" he stated, instantly raising my hopes that I had, perhaps, already got the job. "Sometimes this place is 'a real pressure-cooker'." Silent for a moment, he looked at me with inscrutable eyes. What did he see? A pretty (even if I do say so myself,) confident, eager, fresh young graduate with her whole working life ahead of her? I had hoped so. "I need someone who can anticipate. Someone who can participate. Someone who can provide ES – Executive Support."

"I'm your woman," I had asserted, wondering, in the back of my mind, what exactly ES entailed.

At that, Ryerson, had offered me the job of being his Personal Assistant or PA, and after negotiating a generous remuneration package, I had left the interview smiling like an idiot, with butterflies in my stomach, and a promise to return first thing Monday morning.

Now I think about it, maybe those first few weeks were a bit of a honeymoon. Ryerson – he's always addressed me as Mrs. Lavalle, and I him as Mr. Ryerson – anyway, he claimed on several occasions to be suitably impressed with my work, and, especially, my self-motivation. I had jumped in with both feet, and taken on tasks without prompting many times over within the first three weeks.

It was Wednesday of the fourth week when all hell broke loose. I won't bore you with the financial details, but it was the result of a global economic blip – no ones fault – that visited a sudden and severe crisis on Ryerson's successful little business. A tsunami threatening to wash out the foundations of his firm. Like I said, "No ones fault!" not mine, not Ryerson's, but we both needed to do some sandbagging to save our jobs. That was when my office duties morphed in a completely unanticipated way.

I watched as the news of the disaster sank in, clouding, darkening Ryerson's eyes. Feeling helpless, I asked, "What can I do?"

"I need to think!" he growled, "and what I need from you is to clamp your lips around my cock and keep them there until I come up with a solution. And believe me, there is always a solution."

I was completely shocked. I froze for a moment, but in that hesitation, Ryerson's cold stare deepened. In that long instant the glower of his icy eyes was palpable. Slowly, silently he swung his chair around, and, with an apparent sleight-of-hand, released his semi-erect member. I gazed a moment longer, taking in the size – the length and the girth – of what was only the fourth penis I had ever seen in the flesh. I had to remember to breathe as, in a daze, I stepped gingerly between his legs and lowered myself to my knees.

It felt like a dream. I watched as my hand moved forward in slow motion to grasp the fleshy cylinder. At my touch, its surface soft and warm on my fingertips, it grew more erect, stretching up at 60 degrees from the open fly of Ryerson's trousers. It was much bigger than Garry's, I think. I leaned forward, breathing on the swollen knob, as it twitched, reaching for my lips, growing taller yet. A drop of moisture formed at the end, and I watched it momentarily as it glittered in the light, before instinctively reaching with my tongue to gently lick it away.

I am not an expert at cock-sucking – not to put too fine a point on it – so it was with trepidation that I lowered my lips over the purple head and past the glans, to close then around the veined shaft.

With his hands softly guiding my head, he established an up and down rhythm, which I took up. There was something about the situation that made me want to excel, so, although I had never deep-throated my husband, I pushed myself harder with each stroke, taking in more and more of his steadily increasing stiffness. Between quiet 'aahs' and 'oohs' and the slurp and slap of my energetic sucking, Ryerson whispered, "Don't get anything on the pants – if you can avoid it."

"The pants?" I screamed silently to myself. But I kept my lips sealed and pushed myself deeper just as his fingers twisted more tightly in my hair and his hips began to buck, slamming his rock-hard erection against the back of my throat. His cockhead swelled to fill the back of my throat, sealing my airways. The insistent twitching of the shaft became rhythmic, slapping against my palate, until, jolting and jerking, his iron rod suddenly stiffened and began to spit, letting go volleys of semen. And it kept on squirting and squirting, round after round. I pulled back to grasp a breath, but the volume of cum made me gag, and almost sputter. Somehow I remembered – the pants – and, stifling a cough, sucking in my cheeks, I swallowed it all, save for the little bit that went up my nose. A little voice in the back of my mind observed, "That was a first. You've never swallowed before."

That thick, fleshy tube got a little soft but remained turgid and erect. With his fingertips still playing gently at my temples, Ryerson silently coaxed me to stay on him, as, in short order, he began to get hard once again. I stroked him calmly with my lips, bobbing my head less frenetically, while applying subtle suction. I'd never really noticed the textures on a penis before. Idly swirling my tongue around the end, I could feel that the knob had slightly deflated, and was warm and soft, with interesting contours. Sliding gently up and down the shaft, my lips gripped with just enough pressure to keep saliva and juices from seeping out. The kiss-soft caresses, appreciated the veined smoothness, and pliant rigidity of his still semi-erect cock. He didn't seem ready to cum, nor ready to stop, so I continued evenly, waiting for him, actively waiting. Luxuriating, I was surprised to realize, in the sensations of touch and motion.

Suddenly, abruptly, he lifted me by my armpits to stand between his legs, pulling me off his glistening rod with a 'pop'. He drilled me with his eyes, securing all my attention. In his rapid-fire, no-nonsense, let's-get-down-to-business voice, he said, "I know what to do. Take off panties. Call your husband – you're working late."

I stared once again, with eyes wide, a line of saliva still connecting my lower lip to the head of his cock. I was gob-smacked. My jaw moved, as if stretching itself – but no words came out. Leaning one hand on the edge of his desk, I lowered my panties with the other, lifting my feet to step out of them. I noticed that the gusset of my underwear was soaked – not just damp, soaked! I stuffed them in the pocket of my blazer that I, amazingly, still had on. I never even asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" I was, at that point, confounded by my circumstances.

Without any explanation, he spun me around so that my back was to him, and pulled the phone toward us. As I reached for the phone, trying to remember my husband's cell number, something inside me sparkled, and a mist of anticipation fell over me. It took a moment to regather my focus. I contemplated the meaning of the deep tingling in my fundament, as I dialed, but before I could make sense of it, I felt Ryerson's hands at my waist, beginning to pull; just as Garry answer his phone. Responding to his greeting, I said "Hi..." just as my boss's cock head dragged over my trimmed bush, and across my swollen clitoris, to brush against my puffy nether lips, and cause juices to trickle down my leg. Then, after the tiniest pause, the impressive erection sliced cleanly and completely into the depths of my well lubricated pussy, setting a fine spray of intimate fluids against my inner thighs. The force of its entrance whooshed the wind out of me, swallowing my, "...Garry," in a breathy gasp.

Stars glittered behind my eyes. My inner sparkle erupted into a dancing discharge. The throbbing rod skewering me was fatter and deeper than anything I've ever known. I felt faint. I didn't know if I could actually remain upright. The deep, deep arousal was glowing and twinkling like an arcing short circuit between to tip of his cock and the far end of my vagina. I could feel Ryerson trying to lift me, to get a rhythm started, but I resisted, holding myself down, keeping him fully inserted, at least until I finish my call.

"Gen? Gen? What's happening?"

"Sorry dear; aborted sneeze!" I explained trying to keep my voice as normal as possible.

The crackling sensation deep in my womb began to burble up my spine – slowly but inexorably. "Got a serious crisis here, at work," – I don't know why I added 'at work', where else would it be? Trying desperately to speak evenly, to keep the breathy arousal out of my voice, I said, "I'm going to have to work late." Garry asked for detail, but I put him off. "You know, it's all confidential." I could feel the insistent tingling building deep within. I had to get him off the phone! "I don't know how late. I'll call again when that becomes more clear – if it's not too late."

"See you later!" "'Bye." "Love you, too." For an instant I despised myself, but as I disconnected my attention was once again consumed by more pressing matters – my boss had his cock fully inserted – up my snatch. How had that happened? Jesus! His woodie was throbbing within me – or was that my pussy walls that were pulsing. I could feel an orgasm approaching without any movement at all, but then, as I relaxed my legs, passing control back to Ryerson, I felt him lift my hips slightly then slam me back down onto his lap, pulling himself so deep into me it felt like he was penetrating my gut. I had never felt so full in my life. For a moment the line between ecstasy and agony blurred.

Then my head – my body – exploded into orgasm, the likes of which I had never, ever experienced. Bright colours sparkled and rippled behind my eyes sending flashes of current racing up and down my spine, shimmering out through my fingers and toes, and erupting into an inferno of sensation tumbling about my pussy.

"Yessssss," Ryerson hissed, behind me – under me.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I gasped incoherently, clutching onto the edge of the desk to steady my body, as my head flopped about on my shoulders like a rag-doll.

Thrusting into me, wildly at first then slowing to a steady beat, Ryerson stated matter-of-factly, "I get my best ideas during sex." As I took up his rhythm, lifting and settling, on and off his rampant member, he slid his hands from my hips, to worm them under my blouse and into my bra, clasping my breasts. The steady, insistent rocking of his hips, his cock sawing in and out of my dripping, pulsing vagina had the, for me unheard of, suggestion of a second orgasm glow and spark deep within my womb. The instant Ryerson's fingers pinched my nipples, I went off like a bomb. My slow and steady up and down became a frenetic bouncing as I screamed out my climax.

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!"

My coming heralded his orgasm, too. Pushing his hips into me further than I would have thought possible he twitched and groaned filling me with his seed. I could feel his cum spurting and splashing my insides, and running down my thighs. "Oh fuuuuuuuuucccckkkkk!!"

Ryerson held tight to my boobs, supporting my whole upper body as I swooned, lifting up off the desk to lie back against him. He continued to jerk and quiver within me, slowly softening as I came to rest on his lap.

"His pants," I thought, ruefully, if inexplicably, "can hardly have survived that!"

After what seemed like only a moment's reprieve, Ryerson extricated himself, tucked himself in, and, as if nothing had happened, got back to work. It was the necessity of concentrating on his monologue, separating the orders from the requests, from the comments, from the chatter, that allowed me to function. I deliberately ignored the pulsing of my core, as I casually wiped the dripping juices from my inner thighs. In that way, the next few hours were all business – a lot of contacting and connecting, revising and copying. But, like he had said initially, "There is always a solution," and eventually we were able to resolve the problem.

The world seemed quiet, almost eerily so. In the muted hush of our office I was finally making archival copies, leaning over the copy machine, when Ryerson, stated, from behind me, "That about wraps it up." In that instant, and in one motion he lifted my skirt, with a peremptory thrust, plunged his member fully into me. Gasping in surprise, I lifted my head. My mouth opened to release the air forced out by the rapid insertion. Staring straight ahead, supported by my hands, straight-armed on the copier, I tried to respond verbally, but nothing came. Trying to assemble my thoughts, I noticed his abrupt entry had, nevertheless, been eminently smooth. My vagina had apparently welcomed the unexpected penetration, still slick with our residual juices.

"Why am I not protesting?" I asked myself, as I remained, for the moment silent and still. But, surprise notwithstanding, the abruptness of his entry was totally arousing. His hardness filled me, bumping and stretching me deep within my pussy. I could feel the walls of my sex grasping and squeezing, caressing the veined surface of his iron bar. Amazingly, or perhaps not, I was on the brink, panting and squealing by the second thrust. Gibbering, softly at first, then louder and louder, I could feel a climax rushing up my spine – buzzing and crackling! "Unh, unh, ahhhhh!" I raised my head, and let out a primordial scream as I slammed my hips back to meat his lunging, plunging stab, and another orgasm flooded over me. Awash with colour and electricity, my awareness misted over. My consciousness began to fade. If it hadn't been for Ryerson's member, holding me up like a coat hook I'm sure I would have collapsed.

Suddenly leaning over my back, Ryerson's hands grabbed wildly at my breast, frantically pulling my jacket open, tearing at my blouse like a man obsessed. In moments buttons popped and the thin material of my top was pulled wide. Delving roughly into the cups of my bra, my breasts were whipped out into the open, only to be kneaded forcefully, strong fingers catching and tweaking my nipples – pulling and twisting them almost painfully. Almost, but not quite. Sensations whirled about me, drawing me back to full consciousness, arcing from my abused buds to my pussy – shooting up my spine to swirl around my head. I was dizzy and breathless – having trouble recovering from cumming – as the pounding continued. I could hear the sound of moist flesh slapping together on every thrust, and the squelch of leaking juices on every retreat.

As a complaint finally formed in my mind, I realized it had become incredibly irrelevant – much too little too late. I remained silent, if not still, pushing my ass back from the photocopier against his ramming cock with my arms, and cushioning the pounding attacks with flexed elbows.

"Oh, oh, oh," Ryerson began to accelerate, hunched over me, continuing to maul my exposed tits, mercilessly. I could feel yet another climax germinating deep in my chest. Slap, slap, slap. Every push, every genital collision, every lewd squelch fanned the growing spark, until, as he dropped my boobs and grabbed my hips to pull me fast against his pubis, his throbbing member as deep as possible, letting out a primeval sort of bellow that ignited the incendiary sensation that encompassed my body, we came together. The sparkle and intensity of my climax blotted out reality. Collapsing onto the copier, consciousness fled for a bit, only to return in dribs and drabs, beginning with the awareness of the mammoth cock still twitching and spurting so deep in me that it must have been touching the back side of my tonsils.

His hips now still, pressing my own into the body of the copy machine, Ryerson took his hands from my waist and returned them to my chest, worming them over the copy surface to cup my breasts authoritatively; he began to caress them once again, pinching my sensitive nipples. I could feel his heaving chest against my back, as my own breath, slowly returning to normal, automatically matched his. For a few moments we were silent and still, the only sounds being our soft, matched panting.

Then, abruptly, he stood up. "Mmmmm, nothing like a good fuck to release tension," he purred as he extricated his softened, still slimy dick. "I can tie up the loose ends tomorrow. You might as well head home now." Though I could barely muster the energy to lift myself off the copier, I brushed my skirt back down, then, corralling my boobs with my bra, I pulled my blouse together, tucking it in and covering the lack of buttons with my jacket. Grabbing the copies from the tray I turned to see my boss just zipping up – grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "Take tomorrow off," he said, almost back to his old officiousness, adding, as his eyes fixed on mine, "You've earned it – we'll cover it."

"Thanks," I replied softly, placing the copies into his extended hand. Averting my eyes, I made my way to my desk, shut down my computer, grabbed my purse, and left, muttering, "Bye," without looking back.

The drive home was a confused blur. Disturbing questions swirled around my mind: "What just happened?" "What have I got myself into?" "And what got into me – besides the obvious." Smiling, I wondered about my sanity. How on earth I could find humour in this? Fortunately Garry was sawing logs when I got home. After a quick, guilty shower, I donned a nightie and climbed into bed, weighing the wisdom of snuggling with my husband, and waking him, I settled for lightly spooning.