Gentlemen At Work Ch 01

Gordon Gobbraith was not the kind of man who enjoyed work, not that any man ever does. He was nearing retirement in a Fortune 500 company, highly placed and well paid to move bits of paper around all day, shout at his subordinates, and generally keep things running in a very dull but orderly kind of way. He was in a skyscraper with an office that had a nice big window, looking out at other skycrapers where men like him did the things he did.

But something good had happened at the company lately, something that boded well for Gordon. Employees above a certain level on the managerial ladder had gotten to vote on a new perk they'd like to see for their job and they'd voted in (by a narrow margin over a private barista and espresso lounge) an in-office massage service. Three masseuses had been hired on and a little-used corner of Floor 36 had been converted into a massage parlor, complete with beds, changing rooms, lights with dimmer switches, and relaxing music. Gordon had been four times already and had had each of the masseuses work on him. The first two were uninteresting: a man with those disgusting gauges in his ears who was almost certainly gay, and a very stern, professional woman with fake nails who sometimes scratched her patrons, possibly intentionally.

But the third was a woman he liked to call 'Chica', the Spanish word for 'little girl', even though he knew very well that wasn't her name. It was the first step in degrading her, for she was a Mexican woman in her thirties with fair-to-middling brown tits, long, wavy black hair, and the most tempting set of plump red-painted lips he'd ever seen. The first time he felt her work on him he'd gotten a semi just from the massage as he imagined her lithe, strong fingers rubbing and squeezing other parts of him. He'd gotten out of the massage room and back to his office posthaste, where he'd called up a private eye to do a little digging for him. In the meantime he set up a daily appointment with her just after lunch, joking with his peers that a man as long in the tooth as he was needed as much help relaxing the muscles and joints as possible. A week later Chica was used to his periodic visits and the private eye called back with exactly what Gordon had expected he would find; a falsified work visa and an expired immigration visa, along with a couple other interesting treats he hadn't anticipated coming his way. He thanked the man, paid him his hush money, and printed copies of everything out in full color.

On the day of reckoning he entered the room in his towel, sat on the table, and waited. Chica entered only moments later, perfectly dressed in her starched white masseuse's uniform, hair pulled back, brown arms exposed and ready to work.

"Please sit down, Meester Gobbray," she said, smiling her red smile as she pointed to the table.

"I have something for you, Chica," he said.

"My name ees not Chica," she reminded him for the millionth time.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked, passing her the picture of the falsified visa.

She took it and for a moment didn't seem to understand, then her cheeks went white. "Can you read, Chica?"

"My name ees not Chica," she whispered, eyes not leaving the picture.

"This is a work visa that someone has paid a lot of money for. You know why they paid a lot of money for it?" He paused for a moment, savoring the scared, desperate expression on her face. "Because it isn't real, Chica."

"Meester Gobbray," she gasped, starting to cry.

"How about this, do you recognize this?" he asked, passing her the picture of the expired immigration visa. She was starting to cry in earnest now as she recognized it. He tapped one finger on her picture. "Is this you?" She nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks onto her chest. "Are you sure you know how to read? Because according to this date-," he tapped another portion of the document, "-your immigration visa expired almost eight months ago."

"Please- please- Meester Gobbray," she gasped, then said a string of Spanish, dropping both pictures and clasping her hands in front of him before switching again to English. "I not want to go. I am needing this money, very much."

"Go? You mean get fired? I'm afraid it's much more serious than that. You could get arrested and deported."

"No, no! I go then, I go, please Meester Gobbray, no tell no one, please, please!"

"It's alright, Chica, it's alright," he said, taking her by the wrists and pulling her down to eye level in front of him. She had to bend over at an uncomfortable angle to accommodate it. Under the towel wrapped around his waist his cock twitched. "I think you can keep your job here, as long as you make me very, very happy. Do you understand that?"

"I make you very happy?" she repeated.

"Yes, Chica. Do you know what a 'happy ending' massage is?"

"My name ees not Chica," she said, pulling her hands away from him, looking disgusted. "And I not do that kind of work."

"You're going to have to," Gordon said sternly. "If you want to keep me very happy. Or I'll have you arrested today and the company won't pay you a dime. We're not legally obligated to issue paychecks to illegal immigrants- in fact, we're strongly discouraged from doing so." He could tell by the look on her face that the stupid broad hadn't understood everything, but she understood enough to start crying again. "So," he said, confident she would no longer try to resist him, "why don't you show me your tits?"

"My- I not understand."

"Your tits, Chica," he said, reaching out and fondling one large, firm breast in his hand. "Your titties."

She shook her head, whispering again, "My name ees not Chica," but her hands went to the neck of her uniform and she began to unbutton it. Before long the front hung open, a T-shirt under it.

"Take the shirt off."

She pushed the sleeves of the uniform down until the whole upper half hung from the belt at her waist, then removed the T-shirt. She had a tank top on under that, and Gordon could finally see the hot pink straps of her bra.

"Take the tank top off," he sighed, frustrated as his cock began to come to attention, the sight of this relatively young woman submitting to his will making him impatient to get on with it. She took the tank top off and stood before him wearing nothing above the waist but her hot pink bra, the color bright against her brown skin. He reached under the towel and began to stroke himself. She watched him, helpless and defeated, two hot tears trailing down from each eye.

"Now take the bra off," he said once he was satisfied he'd committed the mental image to heart. She took it off slowly and her tits popped out one after the other, round and heavy. He reached forward and started to play with them, tweaking and flicking the nipples until they were hard. Chica closed her eyes, arms at her side, and cried silently. "Lean forward so I can suck them," he commanded, and she leaned forward so that they hung before his hungry lips. He took each titty in his mouth in turn, pinching and twisting whichever was left out.

"Take down your hair," he mumbled around a mouthful of her soft, warm titflesh. She reached up and undid her bun, letting her long black hair fall down around them both in thick, hot waves.

When Gordon had sucked on the Latina slut's tits long enough to satisfy himself he leaned back, letting her tit fall out of his mouth with a wet plop, and grabbed her by the hair, directing her up onto the table next to him where she crouched over his lap, crying with her mouth wide open. He pulled his towel away to reveal his rock-hard cock, standing straight up, the reddened tip pointing at her tempting red lips.

"No!" Chica protested, trying to get away. "This ees not 'happy ending'!"

"It's the ending that will make me happy," Gordon growled, holding her firmly in place with one hand while he stroked himself hard and quick with the other. "What happens if you don't make me happy, huh?" She didn't answer and he shook her, managing to get her head lower and her mouth closer to his cock in the process. "What happens if you don't make me happy?!"

"You call police," she whispered.

"That's right! Now I bet a hot little backwater bitch like you has sucked a lot of cock, haven't you?" She nodded, her tears dripping onto his tip and down his shaft. "Have you? Have you sucked a lot of cock? I bet you sucked all the way here, didn't you? I bet that's how you got here, sucking every cock that came your way! Didn't you? Answer me!"

"I- no like-," she said, her lips brushing the head of his cock on the last word as he bore her firmly down. A large drop of precum stuck to her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick and trembling as she cried.

"I don't care if you 'no like'!" Gordon muttered furiously, letting go of his cock so he could put both hands on the back of her head. "Suck it, you goddamned stupid whore!"

Her lips descended no matter how hard she struggled and squirmed and at long last he felt his cockhead enter her mouth, her tongue swirling against his tip, trying desperately to push him out. But he had one last card up his sleeve and he knew just how to play it.

"Who else did you come here with, Chica?" he asked, panting from the effort of holding her in place. She froze and he managed to get her down his shaft another inch. "Is your mother with you? Is this-," he grabbed a second expired visa, sliding it under her so she could see it, "-is this her? Because it looks like she was supposed to leave eight months ago, too." Her mouth slid down his cock a second inch- at this point he wasn't even sure she knew she was doing it. "You're going to suck my cock, Chica," he whispered in her ear, leaning over her. "You're going to suck it every day, and if you don't keep me very, very happy, I won't be calling the cops on you. I'll call them on her."

He felt the fight go out of her and smiled to himself, leaning back on one hand and idly moving the other to her tits, leaving the picture of her mother's visa lying under her. "I said to suck," he reminded her as her fondled her hard nipples. "And suck it hard. I'm an old man, little Chica-poo. You're going to have to suck a long, long time." Her head moved downwards, all the way down, until her lips pressed against his balls. Like he thought- not even a shadow of a gag reflex.

She came back up, long red streaks from her lipstick on his shaft, then slid down again. Her tongue worked his shaft and head, and she sucked so hard her cheeks caved in. She moaned slightly, and it was hard to tell whether the pleasure was faked for Gordon's benefit or not. Certainly her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glazed, and her nipples stiff as two rubber erasers hanging from her teats.

"Oh, to have a young slut again," he mumbled, watching her start a steady rhythm up and down, spit and pre-cum bubbling up around her lips, clamped tight around him. "A nice, stupid set of tits ready to get on her knees and blow dirty dicks like a corner prostitute. Faster, cum bucket!" he ordered suddenly, giving one of her nipples a cruel twist. She bobbed faster, and now between her moans she was starting to choke and gasp for air. Her warm, red-tinged juices trickled down his shaft onto his balls. He was as hard as he'd ever been, but not close enough.

"Come on, you fuck pig, come on!" he snapped, thrusting up to meet her. His pelvis smacked her cheek hard and she squealed, her throat vibrating on his cock. She tried to pull back but he put a domineering hand on her head. "I didn't give you permission to stop," he growled, thrusting again. Her lips descended and she redoubled her efforts; he'd never seen anyone suck a cock so fast and yet he kept thrusting, savoring her moans and yelps of pain every time he caught her off guard.

At last he was ready to go and he hastily dragged her off him and pushed her off the table. She sprawled on the floor, dazed with red, red lipstick and cum smeared and splattered all over her puffy, swollen lips and the lower half of her face, her thick black hair spread across the carpet. "Yeah, that's it," Gordon cooed, straddling her stomach and kneeling over her as he jerked on his cock, hard and fast. "You ready, Chica? You ready for my cum? Oh, you're going to get a lot of my cum, aren't you? Every day. Every day!"

She started crying and his first shot hit her right on her tit, as he'd intended. He aimed the next at her other tit, then her nipple, then a little lower, trying to cover each round globe, jiggling every time his helpless slut sobbed. Seven. Eight. He milked his cock hard, making sure she got every single drop, and by the time he was done both tits were covered in a pearly coating of his hot, fresh cum.

He sighed, sitting back and admiring his work. For the price of a little hush money he was really getting a fantastic deal. And maybe even more in the bargain... but that was much farther down the line.

"Sit up, Chica," he told her. She obeyed, sliding out from under him. Two trembling strands of cum hung down from the tips of her hard nipples. "I'm done now. Why don't you put on your bra? No need to clean up," he added when she reached for the table and the towel he'd discarded there. "Put it on now."

She cried, she begged, she pleaded, but in the end she did it, hooking her bra back in place, the cups molding perfectly to her soaked tits, shining with his load. The cum bled through the fabric quickly, leaving obvious wet patches. He helped her to her feet, watching as she put her tank top back on, her T-shirt, and then pulled her uniform back into place. Even if she undressed again the minute he'd left and wiped as much cum off as she could, it would still be all over her. Satisfied, he patted her cheek on his way out.

"I pity the rest of today's customers, Chica," he said with a victorious smile. "You're going to stink."