Let me start by saying that being in my office at 9pm, squatting in front of my desk with my pencil skirt pulled up to my waist with my bare ass sucking this boy's cock - loudly sucking this boy's cock was my choice. He loved it. His head was tilted back, and his mouth sagged open in disbelief as his manager sucked his big dick to persuade him to stay on the project. He'd look down to see my head bobbing up and down in his thick veiny cock and my ass quivering with the jerking of my head back and forth on his dick - and he'd gasp and roll his head back again, probably thinking about baseball or whiteboards or something so that this moment would last longer. It was right where I wanted to be.
When I got the project, I knew they gave it to me because it was destined to fail. It was feature-bloated, way behind, undefined, and circling the bowl, just waiting for someone competent to flush it down. But it was a "corporate initiative," and those fuckers didn't want to associate themselves with - so they gave it to me. It was the closest to anal any of them would ever get with me. I was impressed they kept straight faces as they slid the project folder across the desk to me. I took it, smiled, thanked them, assholes.
To make things worse, they structured the project based on its completion. Usually, they provide incentives based on features being delivered; a download button and payout, a group of pages and a payout, content being updated, and a payout. But the basket of money was so big, I dropped my pretty-faced guard and let my eyebrows arch - just a bit. I couldn't contain my surprise. It was an unrealistic number because the project was impossible, so it didn't matter what bonus they put at the end of it - I wasn't going to get it - or so they hoped.
I subscribe to the belief there's a good reason that the female of the species is usually the bigger animal; bigger, more intelligent, more tenacious. The term "papa bear" is generally associated with some pimp in a trailer in Vegas with a bunch of skinny whores. The term "mama bear" is used for a woman on a mission; who can't be stopped, whose so full of wrath that other animals get out of the way. Yes, males are built for those one-note battles; fighting, wall smashing, fucking, but women manage the kingdoms, the logistics, and where to put those one-note soldiers to smash down walls. If I could deliver this website - when I delivered this website - not only would I would get a lot of money, but I would have the chance to give a big "fuck you" to the assholes that thought I couldn't do it.
And that's what I needed. I scoured my Rolodex for a workhorse. I needed someone who would listen to me and do the work based on my decisions. I didn't want some petty spry college girl who would want to bond over 10 pm dinners and expect to braid each other's fucking hair after pouring out her heart over pickleback shots and then get the 1/2 step promotion from intern to associate because the leadership perverts want to encourage "gender diversity" all the while keeping me right where I was when I started. The company was filled with women of ambitious, dangerous women. I needed someone that would deliver and just go home.
This would be harder than expected because people genuinely remember after years and years that you fired them, were a bitch to them, or were the reason they transferred departments. Yes, I left behind some burned villages in my rise to the top - but I did say the company was filled with ambitious, dangerous women, didn't I? My mother would her yellow smoke-stained finger and say, "you reap what you sow." So to make things harder, I needed to find someone that would be redemptive and show that I wasn't the crazy bitch of last quarter. I was fixing the wrongs and being a better person than the one that got me here.
Peter was a young, good-looking intern that I found was only in the company for a few months. I had seen him at his desk when I was walking out myself at 9 and 10 pm putting the time in and burning the candle down. He was perfect. Did I mention he was good-looking? He looked like he played basketball or football during his college years. He was tall, dark, and quiet. I loved the way he tucked in his shirts and how they showed his broad, muscular shoulders. He had a sheepish smile that he let loose on me when I spoke with him, but it was hidden under a face that was tipped down. It was intoxicating thinking this delicious young man saw me as higher up the food chain and was embarrassed by my attention. My fingers itched to run my hands across his shaved skull and feel the heat of his body.
With Peter, they couldn't whisper, "women hire women, and men hire themselves." I would show that I was hiring one of them. They would see, they would wish, themselves into this handsome young man and just know that I was converted. He was green enough that it was impossible to think he did the work, and I didn't need to braid his hair.
Thankfully, he accepted the job. He relocated into my office to work.
In the first few days, I noticed immediately that his body and that he wears very low cut underwear that I can see through his tight pants. His muscles bulge and press through the fabric of his shirt and pants.
I didn't expect to be attracted to him, but I found myself doing things so that he'd have to move in ways I'd like. First, I'd put folders flat on the desk, so he has to lean his strong shoulders over to look at them. I would move close enough to feel the heat from his body. Then, I'd place the folders open in front of me, so he had to huddle even closer. Now, even he was conscious of our proximity. He's rugged, muscular, and virile. By the second week, I find reasons to arrange things, so I bump into him.
My body is the product of obsessive pilates, squats, and high-end spas. My body is generous, thick, and curvy. I fold my arms under them to push them up so Peter notices them. I see his eyes flick down to them.
I begin wanting him to notice me. I find myself putting on the most beautiful lingerie, black with gold threading or white with pink. When I clothe myself in the morning, I see him standing naked near my bed, his huge cock erect and ready for me. I obediently put on the sexiest underwear I have - and find myself going out early on Saturdays to buy more. The shades of my lipstick go from a muted 'no-need-to-look-at-me' pink to a 'come-and-fuck-me' dried blood red. I am driven to distraction to see if he notices the changes.
The project is going well, he turns out better than I expected, and his productivity is surprising. He's also earnest, and my quiet flirts crashed against quiet diligence and youthful, ridiculous commitment.
And then one night, a Friday, he breaks. I had worn a tight white shirt and black and red push-up bra, something that I would never imagine wearing for anyone at any time ever before meeting him. He could see it through my starched white shirt. I had belted my waist with a soft, leather black belt that made my curves more accentuated. A tight pencil skirt displayed my round ass in no uncertain terms, and, just in case he looked down, I wore faintly patterned pantyhose. We were worn down from a long week. I'm sure his self-control was weak.
"I like your... shoes," he said.
"My what?"
"Your shoes." He realized what he had said, and it was too late to take it back. "I... saw them in an advertisement - those are the ones with the red bottom - they're nice."
"Thank you, Peter." I did a quick spin for him, sharing all of my curves with him. "Do you notice anything else about me?"
"No? Wait, what do you mean?"
"I mean, what else do you notice about me?"
"Nothing."
I feigned a pout, biting my glossy wet bottom lip. "Oh, you wound me, Peter. You don't notice anything?"
"You... You are..." he searched for the words.
I leaned back on my desk and let my crossed legs slide forward slightly.
I reached up and unbuttoned the top and second buttons of my shirt, letting my lingerie peek through.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"Whatever you want me to do, Peter. Is there something you want me to do?"
I got close so that my breath fell on his look of disbelief.
"Peter, you're doing a wonderful job. What is it you'd like me to do to thank you tonight?" My hand slipped down to his crotch, and I felt an immense, hard cock along one leg. "Wow. Very nice, Peter."
"You can't be serious."
"Peter, I love how we're getting this done. If this is completed in time, I get to say 'fuck you' to all those assholes who pushed me aside for years." My hands closed around his waist and slid up his sides.
I pressed my hips against his. Feeling his cock press up against my womanhood began making me dizzy.
"That's worth something in my world, something... huge."
"I... I... I don't know..."
