This is primarily a science fiction story, but it is also just one of a number of variations on a single story. All of the variations are basically the same, so you can read whichever most appeals to you. They are named in a fashion to make choosing the version you prefer easier.
In each title is a "serial number." That number begins with a letter that signifies the object of desire in the story. The choices are E=employer, A=assistant, F=father, D=daughter, B=brother, and S=sister. At the end of the serial number is a lowercase n (non/consent) or c (consensual). Lastly, some stories end with an uppercase G (the nature of the instigating character is basically good) or B (the fantasizing character is basically bad). Stories that do not end with an uppercase letter to not have variations in the nature of the instigating character.
For early readers... I can only release one story per day (Literotica rule), so if you don't see the version you want to read, just wait. There are a total of 12 versions in all. The available versions will be: BR490n, SR278n, FR737c, BR559c, SR353cB, SR351cG, DR526nB, DR588nG, DR585c, FR252c, AR526n, ER252n.
This story, AR526n, is the non-consent version where the young assistant desires her much more mature employer.
— The Author
It stood in the foyer, glistening chrome, overly sleek, yet bulbous in strange places, like a piece of retro-art, a fifty year old vision of what the future would hold, yet now so far from the mark as to appear comical. Still, it was his first commercial success, and so in a way was the keystone of the entire mansion that surrounded it.
Tyler Eugene McClintock was a powerful man, because he was very, very smart. He knew how to do things. He knew how to make things. He knew how to get what he wanted. Most importantly, he knew how to get other people to do things for him.
Cynthia Marie Landloche was very young, yet more than the most competent of personal secretaries. She was part administrative assistant, part financial wizard, part manager, and part punching bag. No matter how good she was at her job, and no matter how much competence she demonstrated in how many varied, unusual areas of expertise, her boss couldn't and wouldn't leave her alone. He could always find fault, or, if need be, create a situation in which she had to fail. He always had a way to berate, belittle and demean her. He made sure of it.
The mansion had one of the most elaborate and sophisticated security systems in the world. Much of it was custom designed by T. E. McClintock himself, and it was supplemented by a well trained, well paid security force. It would keep out any intruder.
It would protect him from everyone but himself.
* * *
"Mr. McClintock, oh, God, stop! Please, sir..."
He held her squirming form down with his bulk. Her finger nails dug harshly into her flesh, breaking the skin, almost drawing blood. She was putting up quite a fight.
His pants were loosened, pulled down around his thick, hairy, muscular thighs. He felt his bare cock, concrete hard, pressing against the smooth flesh of her leg, right at the edge of her panties. With one hand he tore at their fabric, peeling them back. He heard them tear.
"Please, Sir, no."
His other hand held both of hers together by the wrists, wrenched behind her back and beneath them both. It was no doubt painful, but not too. His bulk smothered hers. Beads of sweat, from fear and her exertions, ran down her temple. He smelled her soft, floral perfume, mingled with his own expensive cologne. He grunted as he struggled to force her into submission. She writhed and twisted, but he was too strong.
She stopped struggling. Her cries devolved into whimpers. Now he was going to take what he wanted. He was going to take her.
She clenched her eyes shut as he shoved his cock up inside of her in one long, smooth stroke. The bitch could fight, she could feign fear and horror, but she was wet for him. He slipped into the slut easily and smoothly, stretching her nicely with his size and girth.
* * *
He had been hammering into his assistant with the insistent repetition of a machine for what seemed like days. In and out, over and over, he fucked her ruthlessly. He smiled at the deliciously, wickedly luscious feel of it all. It was exactly what he'd paid for. It was perfect.
He almost wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
It was amazing what they could do, what he could do, these days with silicone, carbon filaments, and pseudo-synaptic dense-layer neuro-arrays.
He would have been far too embarrassed to hand his request sheet to the freckled redhead behind the desk, even wearing a disguise. Instead he sent a simuloid to go through the process for him. He watched the replay of the events by remote sensor relay presentation.
