Marvin Cox: Swinging secretary

The man gave a final stab forward, his hands tight on the back of her head, shoving in the last of his huge load. He held her there for several seconds before letting go, enjoying the way her tongue slipped around his shaft, the tightness of her lips around his cockbase. Finally be reined, letting his hands fail to her small shoulders.

"Where in the hell did you learn to suck dick like that?" he said at last, still panting from the excitement.

Sara licked him clean before speaking. She took the stray globs of jizz between her lips and rolled them around in her cheeks, over her teeth, before gulping them down. Finally, when he was thoroughly free of cum, she sat back on her haunches and looked at the man.

About thirty-five, she would guess, and from the size of his huge hulking frame, an ex-athlete. He was well over six feet, and the mass of curly black hair that framed his handsome face made his blue eyes seem almost black. She noticed a thick mat of hair peeking from the top of his shirt, and knew that he was probably covered with hair all over. A sudden desire to see him fully naked almost made her tear off his clothes.

"I don't know," she said, finally answering his question, "I just do what I like to do, and I guess it pleases… you."

"Pleases?" he said, giving her a wide flashing smile. "Damn if I could patent that little mouth of yours I'd be a fucking millionaire!"

Sara looked, around the plush office and wondered if he was one already. The chairs were real leather, the floor covered by what she knew must be an authentic Persian rug, and sitting in the middle of the room was a desk the size of a bed – glossy from years of hand-rubbing, made of mahogany. The walls were adorned with impressionist paintings, and in one corner was a statue she had seen a picture of on the cover of a magazine.

"Well, you got it if you want it," the man said, interrupting her observations.

"Huh?" Sara said stupidly, wondering what he was talking about.

"The job," he said, standing and adjusting his clothing. He seemed to suddenly have a complete personality change. No longer as warm and friendly, he was now the typical successful businessman. He picked up a folder from the desk and sat down. "You'll do my typing, travel with me, and naturally, keep me sexually satisfied."

Sara was stunned. She stood up and smoothed her skirt trying to find some hint of the warmth she had noticed when she had first entered the room. He looked up and nodded, dismissing her.

"When?"

"Tonight," he answered, knowing her question. "You'll start to work tonight. Your place or mine?" When Sara shrugged her shoulders, he added, "Mine, then. Here's my card. The address is on it. Be there at eight, and bring an overnight bag." When she turned and made for the door, she added, "It will be a pleasure working with you, Miss Price. Until eight…"

Sara closed the door, her knees about to buckle – partially from her spent passions and partially from a building rage. She stormed out of the building into the blinding sun and found her car in the parking lot. It took her several moments before she could gain enough control just to unlock the door. Finally she slipped behind the wheel and gripped it until her knuckles turned white.

"That sonofabitch!" she spat. "Just who the fuck does he think he is?"

She looked at his business card and frowned. It read: Greg Martin, along with his home address. In the upper left hand corner was: Chairman of the Board, Martin Enterprises.

"Well, Mr. Martin, Chairman of the Board, Martin Enterprises, you can just go straight to hell. I'd rather die than go over to your house and be one of your bought women!"

Seething with rage, she drove to her apartment, carrying on an imaginary conversation. Finally she said, "I'll just go over there and tell him… tell him…"

Tell him what? That she didn't like him? He was rich, handsome, built like a Greek God, sexy – and that huge cum-filled cock.

"Tell him that he is an arrogant bastard, that's what! To think that I would… I would."

"I would love one," Sara said when Greg offered her a drink just after opening the door.

A drink was exactly what she needed. Although her mind had been made up to tell him off good and proper, when she saw him standing there, wearing nothing but cut-offs, her heart skipped a beat, her knees weakening. All that she wanted to say was overshadowed by the mere sight of him. Whoever said that clothes made the man certainly didn't have him in mind. And just as she suspected, his muscular frame was lush with dark-brown hair. She had to fight an urge to reach out and touch his sculptured chest.

"Like it?" be asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Love it," she answered, her eyes still riveted to his body. She took a quick sip, suddenly realizing what he was talking about. "Mmmmmm, delicious," she said. "What's in it?"

"My secret," he answered, pulling her into his arms. "And now, let me find out about your secrets."

Sara was totally confused. How could a man turn his emotions on and off like a faucet? He was so warm, so intense, his lips brushing the hollow of her throat, sending shivers of ecstasy up her spine. His huge meaty arm was touching the tips of her tits, his breath warm and musky-smelling.

And later? When it was over, would he shake her hand and give her a curt good bye?

"There's something I have to say," Sara said, pulling away. Looking into his eyes almost made her melt, sending her pussy into a churning fit of pleasure. "I… I can't take the job. I don't give my… sexual favors as part of my work."

"Would you give me your sexual favors if it weren't part of the job?" he asked, his eyes glinting like a cat toying with a mouse.

"Well, yes," Sara said. How could she lie? He looked so good standing there it was all she could do to keep from dropping to her knees and gobbling that big cock into her throat! "But that's not the point…"

"What is the point, then?"

"It's just that you… seem so, well, cold. Like this afternoon. And now, you're different."

"What do you want? Flowers?" He walked over to a large vase filled with tiny pink rosebuds. He yanked them out and handed them to her. "Music?" He walked over and flipped on the stereo, filling the room with violin strains. "What did I leave out? Uh, candy? Sorry, don't have any. Stick around… I'll make you some fudge. What else?"

Sara didn't know whether to slap his face or laugh. She didn't have time, however, to do either. She was engulfed in his arms, her head pushed back as he covered her neck and shoulders with kisses. As the delicious surges of pleasure raced up and down her spine, she dropped the flowers and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him tighter to her body. His cock was throbbing against her belly – big, hard and meaty.

"I want you like this," he whispered. "Like two alley cats, fucking and thinking of nothing else but fucking. I've had the romance and it stinks. I want you physically, like two dogs who lock themselves together. And I'm going to take you… now like that!"

Sara's mind screamed in revolt, but her body could only obey his wishes. She bit down on his mouth like a striking snake, thrusting her tongue deeply between his teeth, her breath coming quick. She pushed her mound of pussy forward, knowing that only a thin piece material separated their bodies. She fumbled with his zipper and released his swollen cock. She was about to drop to her knees, to satisfy that horrible hunger in the back of her throat, but he held her.

"No," he said, grabbing the neckline of her dress.

He yanked down, splitting the material in two. After throwing the torn dress into a corner, he jerked her bra off, then ripped her panties away. His own shorts fell down his legs and he kicked them away.