The Corporate Goddess: My Boss Uses Me to Explore Her Deepest Fantasies, Part I. (MF).

It looked so cliche. The large, oval shaped table in the middle of the conference room, outlined by men in ties and women in power suits. Several shades of gray adorn the floor, walls, and window treatments. I sit at the back of the table, one of the minions, my voice doesn’t count. I’ve been at Sabre Marketing for two years. My job title is the same now as when I was hired; co-associate. I feel numb being another shade gray in this sea of monotony.

The regional Assistant Manager, Sabrina, is about to enter the room for her monthly report. She is the one perk to keeping this job. I am nothing to her, but laying eyes on her once a month is the highlight of my time here. She enters, walking briskly, holding folders and papers. Her heels clank against the hard wooden floor.

Sabrina is incredible, her black hair always tied neatly back, not a strand out of place. Her pants and blazers always form fitting, but professional. Today, she wore white, which complimented her golden brown skin, and contrasted her black hair and eyebrows. Her figure could not be contained by her business attire. Her waist narrowed dramatically, giving way to her healthy, fertile looking hips. Then there is her ass. Perhaps the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. It is round and shapely, but it is clear that she takes care of her body.

I once overheard that she is Puerto Rican, but I don’t know if that is her only ancestry. She’s clearly Latina, and has the slightest sliver of a Spanish accent, it’s almost indistinguishable. She begins her presentation, facing the table. I admire her face, with full, sculpted eyebrows, light brown eyes, and generally sharp features. Her lips are full, and always appear glossy. Silver hoop earrings frame her face. She reviews the month’s sales, and I daydream about what she’s like in the bedroom. Is she this powerful, domineering figure? Or does she prefer to play passive, to allow someone else to take control for once? I can feel my pants tighten around my thigh, as my arousal grows.

I snap out of it in time to hear her announce the regional conference coming up. It is this weekend, and she says someone bailed out of going, and they are in need of a replacement. She apologizes for it being last minute, as most people have families and children to take care of.

I think, “Ah, what the hell, I’m used to being a replacement,” and raise my hand to volunteer to attend. I could use a getaway, anyways. The conference is a few hours away, which will make for the perfect mini-vacation. The company is great about paying our way on these trips, too.

Sabrina looks up and sees me. Her eyes show a look of surprise, and unfamiliarity. “Oh,” she says, and peeks down at one of her papers. “Jonas, is it?” She asks, clearly knowing she’s taking an educated guess.

“Yes, that’s right,” I say. “I will volunteer to go.” I figure it is also time I try and step up, show that I can handle more responsibility and display my creativity.

“Great, thanks Jonas,” she says, matter of factly, “See me after the meeting for the details.” She then moves on with the meeting.

I sit back and revel a bit in my short interaction with her. A bit of panic sets in, as I realize I’ll have to speak with her face to face. Part of me regrets speaking up, opening my mouth. I have become skilled at staying quiet and flying under the radar. While I stew in my head, the meeting continues, then concludes, and it is time for me to approach the Latina beauty in white. I wait for the room to clear, mostly to buy time and to sit in my anxiety.

I approach her, she’s still gathering her things. “Thanks for volunteering to go to Rockport,” she says, now looking me in the eye. “I know it’s not the most exciting assignment, but it is important we are represented at the regional conference.” Being close to her, I see her more as a human woman. She still carries clout, but I am taller than her, and I notice her delicate features, despite her still being a powerhouse.

“Not a problem,” I say. “I’m happy to step up,”

“Well, we’ll see what you say when we get there. I always dread this weekend,” she lifts a hand to her mouth, to whisper, “It is so boring.”

“Then I’m glad to sacrifice myself for the greater good,” I quip. It now strikes me that she said “we” were going to the conference. Without thinking, I spit out, “Wait, you’re going, too?”

She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Yes. Before I asked for volunteers, I stated that I need an associate to accompany me. I had someone change their mind, which is why I need someone short notice.” She says, clearing the record. “Then you raised your hand. Is that going to be a problem?” She asked, her stern, business woman voice re-emerging.

“N no, of course not,” I stammer, embarrassed. “I have no problem going with you, I’m sure it will be,” I scan my brain for suitable words. “Fun?”

“Pff. Don’t count on it. Good. Now you can’t bail on me, Corporate says we need one manager, and one associate at this conference.” She informs me. “So, pack for a long weekend, and we will leave after work on Friday. We’ll take a company car, they pay for the gas. We will return Monday morning.”

“We’re driving together?” I ask myself, before I look more clueless. “Great, I’ll meet you then.” I say out loud, avoiding idiocy.

She studies me for a moment, then nods in approval. Before she can leave the room, I ask, “So is there anything fun to do there? Swim or hike or something? Should I bring anything other than work clothes?”

“If you consider the hotel pool fun, then sure, bring your bathing suit.” She says, still unimpressed with having to go this weekend. “Friday night, it is tradition to go to the local club for drinks and dancing,” she concedes. “So bring your weekend clothes, too.”

“Got it. Swimming. Dancing. Everything else sucks,” I attempt to join in her loathing. “See you Friday after w,” I can’t finish my sentence before she is out of the room, and on her way down the hall.

At home that night, I am excited to pull out my weekend bag and start packing. It’s only Wednesday, but my excitement and anxiety is flowing, so I feel the need to do something with that energy. I pull out my three bathing suits and try them on in front of the mirror.

I look at myself, my body. I’m not thrilled with the way I look, but I can see positives. I look lean, but not muscular. It is no secret that I enjoy pizza, but I also enjoy running. Reaching my early 30s has brought on extra body hair. I do my best to keep it tamed, and make a mental note to trim myself before Friday.

My options for bathing attire include baggy board shorts from the early 2000s, European-style short shorts, and a pair of modern, mid length trunks . I elect the modern, low thigh but above knee pair. Also, this pair is thin, and when wet, shows off the outline of my package to anyone looking, Sabrina, perhaps.

Thursday passes as a blur. It is difficult to work with all the questions consuming my brain. What will the drive be like? Do we listen to music? What does she look like in a bathing suit? Will we share the same room? No, that won’t happen. Right? What if we do share a room and I see her naked in the shower? Or we get drunk Friday night and fool around at the hotel. Realistically, I remind myself, it will be professional. And boring, just like she said it would be. Still, I allow my imagination to wander.

My final night at home, I take my trimmer to clean myself up. Odds seeming unlikely, I trim my pubes, just in case. I also prefer to have everything smooth from balls to asshole, so I apply my hair remover and take the wild growth. I’m satisfied with the results, my pubes are trimmed and landscaped. I have always wanted to have a woman play with my ass, but I remain an anal virgin. Nonetheless, I like the look and feeling of a clean, smooth undercarriage.

Luckily, my head of hair is still thick and full, and gets wavy when grown out. I conclude that I look decent for an early 30s, nondescript white male. My other conclusion is that Sabrina is impossibly hot and I’m going to have to pleasure myself to the thought of her before bed tonight.

Friday morning, I arrive to work with my weekend bag packed. I feel fresh and clean, both in the sense of style and grooming. I’m strangely calm, and able to complete my week’s work. The day goes by quickly, and the time nears to meet Sabrina for take off.

I meet her in her office, my bag in tow. She is a bit scrambled, and asks me to wait a few minutes. I tell her no problem, and sit in her office while she finishes her work. Being this close to her, I notice she moves with a rhythm. Her gestures are smooth and calculated.

I can’t help but take in her curvy figure as she moves around the room. I notice now that her breasts are rather full, they must be typically hidden behind her dress blazer. She smells good, like mint. Her office is very tidy, almost OCD-like. I try not to lurk, but when she bends over to reach a bottom cabinet drawer, her full ass is facing me. My breath skips, and I have to gasp a bit to breathe normally again.

Today, she’s in a red skirt and top. The skirt is professional, but when bent over at the waist, the backs of her knees and thighs show, revealing thick, voluptuous legs. Bent over, her ass nearly makes a perfect oval. When she stands, I take note of her hips, leading to her waist, and the dramatic curves in between. She is a goddess of a woman, I think to myself.

She has one final phone call, and she is very assertive to this person. She makes her needs known, and that is that. I’m turned on by her powerful position and authority. “Okay! You ready for your fun weekend? You got your little swim trunks?” She asks, mockingly.

“Yes, I am ready. And yes, I have my swim trunks, thank you very much.” I return. “And do you have your, whatever it is that you wear to swim?” I ask, with immediate regret. I worry my question was far too informal, and/or inappropriate.

She looks at me, calculatingly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

A moment of awkward silence passes. “Can I help you with your bag?” I reach to grab one of her bags, a smaller one than her normal sized weekend bag.

“No! I mean, um, here, you can carry this one.” She passes me her larger bag, similar in size to mine. She grabs hold of her small bag and purse, and we leave her office.

I kept my mouth closed for the walk to the company vehicle, a new-ish Ford Escape. We climb into the unimpressive vehicle, Sabrina in the driver’s seat. She sets the GPS, and we take off.

Friday Night

The drive is quiet at first, but we warm up to each other as time progresses. I learn that she is 4 years older than me, which puts her in her kid 30s. I notice a tan line and indent on her left index finger, indicating a divorce or broken engagement. She doesn’t mention it, so I don’t bring it up.

I learn that she is, in fact, a warm person. Her professional mask slowly sheds, and she begins to reveal a gentler side. I tell her about myself, reveal that I am single, and have some frustrations with my professional life. She’s understanding, even empathetic with me.

We laugh often, and quickly feel comfortable with each other. We seem to have an understanding of one another, despite our obvious differences. The final half of the drive is filled with our chatting and laughing. It’s very easy being with her. I feel disappointed to arrive at our hotel.

The 3 ½ star hotel is nice, but not pretentious. Sabre is paying for separate rooms, so there goes one wild fantasy. Sabrina and I take our keys from the front desk and make way to our rooms, which turn out to be next door to each other on the 4th floor, at the end of the hallway.

“Mad Jack’s at 8:00,” she says, before entering her room. “All kinds of regional Sabre people will be there, so it will be good for you to meet them.”

“Got it,” I respond. “Meet you at the car then? Say, 10 to 8:00?”

“Sure,” she responds, then looks thoughtful. “Or, if you want to have a drink before we go, you could meet me in my room.” She offers. “Trust me, it will help to have a drink under your belt before you meet some of these snobby corporate types. Sabre pays for the mini bar, anyways.”

“Perfect, see you then.” I try to play it cool. But, in reality, my entire being is burning for her. Not just her body, but who she is. Just her. I feel comfortable around her, and drawn to her. I feel the middle school butterflies thinking about spending the night with her.

I have 45 minutes before I go to Sabrina’s room. I decide the smartest thing is to take a shower, to wash off the day, and feel refreshed for the night. Before flipping the faucet on, I hear the neighboring shower turned on. I imagine her naked body, and immediately, I feel the blood rush to my manhood. I decide the reasons to shower are twofold: refresh, and jerk off to the thought of my naked boss next door.

With a fresh body and fresh mind, I go to her room, at about 7:30. She answers the door in an all black outfit. Black skirt, shorter than her typical office apparel. And black top, with short sleeves and a plunging neckline. Tonight, she opts for gold hoop earrings. Other gold accents compliment her ensemble. Her hair is down, which displays it’s waves and volume.

I pause for a moment, taking her in. Stepping in her room, I stand next to her as she closes the door. Mint and herbal scents linger from her steamy shower. Sitting in her bed, I look around, and see the little black bag she wouldn’t let me carry earlier. My curiosity wanders, as to what could be in that bag.

I’m snapped back to the present by her speaking to me from the bathroom, where she’s working on her hair, “Go ahead and grab what you want from the mini bar.”

I grab a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, pour it on ice, and mix it with the mini can of Coke. Not sure what to do now, I ask, “So, how many of these things have you been to?”

“Ugh. This will be my…” she takes a moment to consider, “eighth, I believe. You should know that this Friday outting gets wild most years.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, intrigued. I’m still sitting on her bed, while she’s in the bathroom.

“People get drunk. For lots of them, it’s their one weekend away from family, kids, responsibilities,” she says.

“And for you?” I ask.

“What do you mean? Do I get down at these things?” She answers her own question. “Typically not. Most years, I’ve had to be… responsible,” she clarifies.

“Got it,” I say, showing I know not to ask more about past years. “What about tonight?” I ask. I’m confused about the vibe. She’s still this powerful executive with whom I work under, yet, the moment feels informal.

“Tonight might be different,” she says. “I could use a fun night. But, this crowd is not my first choice.”

The mirror above the desk reflects the mirror in the bathroom a little. She doesn’t know I’m looking. I watch as she pulls her hair up carefully, into her familiar, office, no-nonsense style. Then, she checks herself out, twisting both ways, clearly checking out her fantastic ass and figure. She approves, flips off the bathroom light, and joins me on the other corner of the bed.

“Well, cheers to you getting what you need this weekend,” I say, authentically.

Her look is appreciative, as if she hasn’t felt cared for in some time. “Cheers to you wasting away your weekend on Sabre’s dime.” We clink glasses, down our drinks, and set off for the gathering.

The tone of the place is largely in line with the hotel – nice, but not stuffy. I don’t feel out of place in a button up shirt and dress pants. Walking in with Sabrina, I can’t help but think about how great we must look as a couple.

Our first stop is the bar, Sabrina buys us each a shot and a drink. We clank our shots together, and down the hard liquor. Drinks in hand, she leads me to meet the others. En route, she leans up towards my ear and says, “You’re not so bad. Maybe this weekend won’t be terrible, after all.”

I get lost in her deep hazel eyes, and before I can respond, she is introducing me to a group of professional looking women and men.

I shake lots of hands, and do my best to keep up with the corporate lingo. There is a buffet-style dinner in our designated banquet room. Sabrina and I stick together for dinner, she shares embarrassing stories about people as they walk by.

As the night progresses, she continues to seem softer, more approachable. Between our budding rapport, and the vodka tonics, she disclosed that she has been separated for nearly a year, and this is her first conference where she is single. She shares about how strange it feels.

Looking more vulnerable, she tells me about her 7 year old daughter, and how difficult it has been to see her part time. Sabrina then perks up, looking worried she has shared too much, and fights back tears. She does this easily, and within 5 seconds, she’s back to her badass, powerful woman persona.

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you,” I say, leaning in to her. “I have a son. He’s 4. I see him every other week, too, and it is really hard.”

We sit with each other in our pain for a moment. “You know what?” She says, her Spanish accent thicker, with more attitude. “Let’s blow off some fucking steam this weekend.”

A new sense of purpose and connection, we return to the bartender for another shot. We cheers, and throw it back. The mood lightens, and she continues telling me stories of drunken incidents and hookups from past conferences.

“I better go kiss some corporate ass,” she says. “I have to keep everything good with the other regional executives to keep our branch afloat. Are you going to be okay by yourself for a while?” She asks, making a pouty face.

“You go ahead and take those lips for your ass kissing,” I reply. I’m horrified immediately by what I had said. The alcohol and sharing of personal things has me feeling far too comfortable. I look at her, showing the worry on my face.

To my surprise, she seamlessly turns her pouty face into a kissy face, she blows me a joking kiss, and walks into the group of executives. I lean back against the bar, sip my drink, and watch her hips and body sway as she walks, reflecting on the pleasant surprises of the night.

Her casual response to my informality has me stirring. Somehow, we feel like friends now, I’m able to be myself around her. Her shapely curves stretch the silky fabric of her black skirt. While she stands and does her corporate schmoozing, she shifts her weight from side to side. I study the subtle movements of her voluptuous butt and thighs. I discover that her ass cheeks ripple the slightest bit when she shifts herself.

My fantasizing is disturbed by a man we met earlier,
Chad, I think is his name. He has the look of a person who works hard and plays hard, too. He orders a drink, and turns to me. “So you’re here with her, right?” He motions to Sabrina, it’s clear who he’s speaking about.

“Sure am. Signed up two days ago to accompany her on this exciting corporate retreat.” I say, sarcastically.

“Well, I have to say, man. You’re doing something right.” He says, joking aside. “I’ve been here every year since she was hired. She has never looked this happy.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, not thinking I could be the difference.

“In past years, she shows up and goes through the motions.” He explains. “Never has she stayed this long, or looked like she was having even a slightly good time.”

“Huh.” I say, pondering his words, while watching the sexy lady boss laugh and chat with men of equal power.

Chad’s drink arrives, and he takes a sip. “Keep doing what you’re doing, it’s working with her,” he says, flashing me a knowing smile. The type of smile guys flash when they think the other has a chance with a girl.

He walks away, and I consider this new perspective. I take out my phone and look busy. The way people do when they’re in an uncomfortable social situation, and need a buffer. I check my fantasy football lineup, read the day’s political news, and scroll social media until Sabrina returns.

She walks to my place at the bar, I’m still on my bar stool, she’s now standing, eyeing for the bartender. “Did you survive without me?” Sabrina asks, playfully.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice you were away. Your pal Chad and I have been shootin the shit for so long, I must have lost track of time.” I’m learning I can keep up with her wit, and it is a small thrill for me.

She scoffs, “Chad. He looks at me every year like he wants to get in my pants.” She looks down at her form fitting black skirt. “Well, you know what I mean.”

My gaze follows hers down, then she watches as my eyes draw back up her hips, to her pronounced tits, her generous cleavage, neck, up to her eyes. I breathe her in, my inhibitions lowered. When we finally meet eyes, we both know that my eyes were consuming her, hungrily.

I slide down the bar stool, my feet nearly touching hers as I plant them on the floor. Ignoring social standards for personal space, I stand straight up, the farthest peaks of her breasts just barely pressing into me. Breathing in her hair, and the rest of her, I draw out a moment of tension. I can feel my arousal growing, the sensitive ridge of my head squinting against my thighs pants around my thigh.

Adding a flair of drama, I peer deeply into her eyes. “You? He wants to get into… your pants?” I ask, with fraudulent bewilderment. “I mean, to each their own, I guess.” I add, now taking my own long, comprehensive scan of her tight, curvy figure. Meeting her again at her eyes, I say, “But, I don’t really see it.”

She plays along with my flirting. “Oh,” she says, looking artificially disappointed. “I had noticed it’s only 11:15,” she says, looking down at her business woman watch. “I saw the hotel pool is open until 12:00, and thought you might want to try and have a dip in the hot tub. You know, since it’s been a long day, and all.”

As she teases, she slowly, subtly leans farther into me, confirming her mutual interest. Except, as her final words trail off, she turns her face away from me, expressing her playful disappointment.

“But, you ‘don’t really see it.’ I wouldn’t want to offend you with my new two piece bikini. It’s a little too small for me, but I brought it anyway.” Her sexy, seductive Spanish accent amplifies as she speaks. Sharing about her bikini, she looks down, places her hands on her waist, and feels herself up, cupping her hands around her supple breasts to compete the teasing motion.

“So, never mind,” she says, dropping her hands and backing away from me, as if she’s no longer interested.

I’m incredibly turned on and intrigued by her playfulness. Her quickness and intelligence can be intimidating. Not because she is a woman, but because she is such a bright person. I rarely, if ever, have opportunities to have this sort of witty banter with anyone. Let alone a corporate goddess, who is clearly attracted to me. I scan my brain for how to respond.

I must decide on which direction to take the playful power dynamic. First, I could double down on the cocky, non-impressed suitor whom she must impress. Second, I walk back my arrogant comments and beg to see her in her skimpy bikini.

“You wanted to swim with me? Hot tub even? Late at night, after all these drinks?” I quip, opting for the arrogant stud role. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d begin to think you had plans for us tonight.” I smugly raise an eyebrow, anticipating her return.

She’s facing the bar, her left cheek to me, avoiding eye contact since completing her previous lines. Letting out a chuckle, she shakes her head. “You must think you’re special,” she retorts. “I could get any man I wanted in this bar. What do you think is so special about you?” She mockingly eyes me from bottom to top with an unimpressed expression.

I have her exactly where I want her. I let out a fake sigh of defeat. “Nothing. There’s nothing really special about me.” I start, putting on a less defensive front. “And you’re right, you could have any man in this bar,” I concede. “I mean, look at you. You’re the hottest fucking woman in this bar, in any bar. I’d kill to have my way with you.” I soften my voice and expression, and begin leaning into her again.

She smirks smugly, believing she has won. Welcoming what she thinks is my concession speech, she lets me in close to her. I wrap my hands around her hips, feeling her for the first time. The fabric of her skirt is soft, and feels expensive. She raises her arms to my neck, as I square my body up to hers. The tension is almost unbearable.

My heart beats wildly in my throat, but I keep my composure. There is electricity between us. My hands wander to the small of her back, and just short of grabbing hold of her delicious ass. Her body is tight and firm, but soft at the same time. I settle my face near hers, our lips inches apart.

“It’s just that,” I begin playing my ace in the hole. “You don’t want any other man at this bar. You haven’t for the eight years you’ve come here. Until now.” I allow my words to marinate in the moment, hoping she stirs on how to respond.

There is a long pause, and she holds her position, tucked into me closely. As she looks up, I feel a pang of anxiety, and worry that I took this too far. I fear I chased her away with my games.

Her glare reaches my eyes with a burn of passion. My victory in our battle of wits has lit a fire of arousal in her. She gives me a steamy look. “Well aren’t you a clever boy,” she purrs. Her light brown eyes do not convey anger or embarrassment. They look hungry. “Time to go,” she instructs.

We take a cab back to the hotel, it’s a short drive. We don’t say much, but we sit close to one another in the back seat of the cab. My arm is around her, and I lightly stoke her arm with my fingertips. I can feel her goosebumps as I glide across her skin. She rubs her hand on my thigh, teasing me into an erection.

“Come over here when you’re ready.” She says as we separate into our rooms. The thrill of possibly fucking my boss, as well as the several drinks, has my blood excitedly coursing through my veins. In my room, I whip off all my clothes, pee, and throw on my trunks.

It must have been under two minutes since we parted into our rooms. I find her door ajar, held open by the extra lock hotel room doors have. I enter, finding her in the bathroom, her legs and thighs bare, her bronze skin glowing in the light. A small black bikini bottom covers her womanly gate.

She looks as if she had just gotten the tiny black top on. She’s still adjusting and shoving her larger-than-I-realized breasts into the small pouch of fabric. The sight of her holding her plump, round tit sends a jolt through me.

“Wow,” I say, tongue probably hanging out of my mouth. “You look… wow.” Is all I can muster. I move closer to her, and stand behind her, both of us now visible in the mirror’s reflection.

We both take a moment to look at ourselves as a couple in the mirror. One brown, one white. My crystal blue eyes differ from her’s, which are light brown. Her smooth, soft face contrasts my short, black facial hair. “We look good,” I say, authentically. I look down at her continuing to fumble with her top, her breast still in her hand. I get a small peek of her dark brown nipple. “You need some help with that?” I ask, willing to assist.

She lets out a disgruntled sigh. “It fit earlier. If only these goddamn tits weren’t so huge.” She lets out. I look at her through the mirror, reminding her of my proposal. “Sure, yeah, go ahead, knock yourself out.”

Without hesitation, I square myself behind her, arms on either side, my partial erection now grazing her between her thighs. I reach down the front of her chest, passing her neck and collar bone, and take hold of her glorious mound. Lifting her breast with one hand, my other rugs and pulls at her black, skimpy top. It really is a very tight fit.

I try in earnest to help, at first. With all of the fumbling and gripping, and shifting, her nipple hardens under my repeated touch. The more I touch her, she seems to care less about the top. She begins to look more relaxed, tilts her head to the side, and closes her eyes while I grope her. She lets out an unmistakable moan, “Mmmmm.”

My focus shifts away from her clothing dysfunction. I circle and tease her nipple with my right hand, and the left, previously the hand adjusting her top, changes course and grabs a handful of her left bosom. I squeeze and massage both. Soon, she lets out another, longer moan, “Ohhhhh.”

I dip down and softly place my lips on her shoulder, kissing gently. I feel a surge of electricity as my lips touch her smooth, salty skin. I make my way up her neck, while my left hand travels down her torso, massaging her inner thigh. “Oh, yeah,” she moans, encouraging me to proceed.

It is now impossible to mask my arousal, as my cock has reached full staff, and is pressing angrily against my trunks, and into her thighs. I grind my hard member into her cushiony bottom, and we both let out a labored groan.

“Touch me,” she coos softly, and guides my hand to her pussy. With the pads of my fingertips, I run the outline of her labia, felt through her bikini bottoms. I feel her arousal soaking through the fabric. While I tuck under her suit, touching her swelling, wet pussy lips, she announces her approval, moaning, “Yes, yes.”

With my fingertip, I swirl around her inner lips, spreading her honey to her pleasure button. I slide my index and ring fingers up to her clit, and I can feel her body shutter at the shock of pleasure. I touch her all over, my lips and tongue exploring her neck and earlobe, my right hand pinching her erect nipple, the fingers of my left hand varying their motions around her clitoris, and my eager, hungry cock dry fucking her ass.

Her breathing quickens, and her moans get louder. “Oh fuck! That’s the spot! Yes!” The hand teasing her nipple can feel her chest rising and falling more quickly, her body nearing an explosive release.

I struggle to avoid letting my own orgasm free. Her whole being is intoxicating. The sounds that she makes as I pleasure her stirs me to my core. Seeing her nearly naked goddess-like body fall into me is nearly enough to make me erupt. Her skin is impossibly soft and smooth. The messy, black, curly hair that brushes my face has an herbal scent. Even her natural smells that now fill the room, from the oils on her head, to her sex hormones released in the air, consume every fiber of me.

“Uh.” Gasp. “Uh.” Gasp. “Ohhh God! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

I feel her body begin to quiver, her eruption coming in seconds. I watch her brown thighs ripple gently as her orgasm builds. “Ah! Yes, Jonas, yes!” Then she comes, her pleasure releasing in waves while I massage her clit. She comes down from her climax, and I slow my hands in line with her breathing, until I am only holding her softly around her middle.

The moment she collects her breath, I spin her around by her waist, and kiss her. I run my fingers through the back of her head with my right hand, while grasping her butt cheek with the other, feeling my fingertips towards her fertile hole. Our mouths align perfectly, our kiss hard and passionate, but not sloppy. Our timing and rhythm is in sync. Her tongue is determined in my mouth. She dives past my waistband for my leaking cock, taking it in her hand assertively, and stroking me. Her fingertip swirls my tip, collecting my precum, which she uses for lubrication to slide up and down my shaft.

Our kiss is hard, but fast, as my patience has ran out, and I must fuck her. I pull away from our embrace, grab her by the hips again, and twist her back towards the mirror. She and I instinctively bend her over the vanity, opening access for me to enter. With a swift flick of her wrists behind her, she wisks my trunks off in one motion. I slide her bottoms to the side, revealing her tight little asshole above and her eager hole below. I slide my hard, veiny cock between her pussy lips, gathering her natural juices before I penetrate her. She groans impatiently while I tease her clit with my head. “Uh! Fuck! Put it in!” She screams at me.

I take a look in the mirror once more before penetrating her. I want to remember this moment, as I’m sure nothing close to it will ever happen again. The straight-laced executive who I had fanatized about so often, was now begging me to fuck her. In the mirror, it was almost not the same woman. The woman opening herself to me was primal, her hair unkempt, out of it’s trademark tight pony. In the mirror was a sexually starving woman, her eyes could not hide the desperation that burned inside of her.

Looking back down, I easily located her hole, and entered her slowly. The walls of her vagina clamped tightly around my aching cock; it was nearly painful to enter her. Her groans became deeper, from her throat, “Oh. God. Damn.”

“Holy shit,” I grumbled, as her tightness continued to persist. “You’re so fucking tight,” I tell her while I ease myself inside of her. She makes an adjustment with her hips, points her tailbone to the sky, and I feel a slight relief from her vice grip. “Oh yeah, that’s better,” I confirm her efforts. I gradually pick up the speed of my thrusts, entering her more deeply with every push.

“Yes!” She wails, her hands now gripping anything in sight. Her right hand fists a towel, her left grabs hold of the sink bowl. Her knuckles turn white while I increase my intensity. My eyes feast on the pulsating of her ass cheeks. I look again to the mirror, and see her face, glistening with heat, twisted with pleasure. Her tits bounce with my motions, and I grab them while I pump.

My limit is nearly reached. I feel my seed forming in me, ready to spread. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Shit!” I yell, announcing my explosion. I fuck her hard, our bodies now clashing harshly.

“Ah! Ah! Fucking come in me! Come in me!” She screams at me.

I feel my shaft fill, and erupt inside of her tight, cramped pussy. I unload blast after blast into her, slowing my attack when my body is emptied. I pull out of her gently, my hot white liquid oozing out of her once I vacate.

She releases her grips, and rests her head on her arms, still bent at the waist before me. Her eyes closed, her chest heaving still, she has not yet let go of my earlier comment, “So, do you see what a man might like about me now?”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fd7zu4/the_corporate_goddess_my_boss_uses_me_to_explore