Serving Girl

I hate him. Hate hate hate him. Sitting there being paid sixteen times my wage to actively destroy the world, do his job badly, or well depending on which side you take. He disgusts me with his dishonesty, his foolishness, his abhorrent social and feeding habits.

And yet in my anger I become a sliver of sensual quicksilver, dressing each morning for the role of mistress; my crisp white blouse threatening to give way and expose the treacherous flesh beneath, and the accompanying black shirt is only just long enough to conceal the delectable curves of my arse. Bare legs that stretch on and up to meet silky french knickers.

This is all for him and all for me; I bend over to serve his teas and coffees, inviting his ogling; thinking he might just reach out one day and grab a handful in animal lust.

I am careless, I am beautiful. I stand in the corner of the room awaiting instruction, my phone clasped in one hand with the other exposing my cunt. I am taking photos of my pretty cunt to show to people who desire me and he may be watching he may not. His cock may be shifting and pressing against the front of his slacks as he catches the slick pinkness of my inner labia.

My knickers are sodden each and every day, the material catching between my thighs as I walk, the seams rub over the stiff red nub of my clit making me gasp and shiver as I go about my day, performing his pointless errands.

One day I leant against the deep mahogany bookshelf filled with legal texts he has never read, and masturbated brazenly, rubbing my clit the way I would if alone in bed, dragging the orgasm out of me, working against my constant arousal making the surface slippery so I must persevere, push out my hips and rub harder, harder, reaching inside my blouse to feel my swollen nipples; unfastening the last few buttons protecting my modesty so he can see how the dark, puckered flesh contrasts with my stark white breasts.

I moan lightly when I come, licking my fingers for pleasure, not to clean them. Fingerprints of my cum adorn his paperwork still.

The next week I remove a marble paperweight from his desk; admiring the smooth, phallic shape as his eye fixated on my exposed nipple. A few minutes later he tried to hide the fact he was watching me fuck myself with the item; curved so perfectly I wondered if he was stupidly using a sex toy as officeware; or the item had been placed there for me specifically. Perhaps he was not so stupid, and knew he was served by a slut.

This time I came loudly and watched him as I came. Without adjusting my outfit I stepped back towards the desk and placed the weight back on top of his papers.

The disgust I felt at how aroused these actions made me never lasted long; it was soon replaced by lustful thoughts of how I could taunt him more harshly.

I soon gave up pretence altogether. He arrived late one morning to find me in his deep, leather chair with my ankles resting on top of his desk, fucking myself with the marble toy once more. He could hardly ignore the display, and with the huge sash windows bathing him in idyllic sunlight I could see the outline of his cock through those expensive Saville row slacks.

I am suddenly taken with a fancy to fuck him. To feel him shoot his load deep into my cunt and then go about my day as if nothing had happened at all.

I beckon him with one shiny wet finger and he steps forward in silence, allowing me to unfasten his flies and extricate his cock from his underwear. Not quite hard enough; I shuttle my hand along the shaft; discarding the toy for something better.

In six months he has said nothing to me, nothing at all and I in deference was told to do likewise. So now I utter two simple words.

“Fuck me.”
He doesn’t question my motives or decline. He doesn’t turn dominant and bark orders. He knows what this is, and I lie back, spreading my beautiful, photogenic cunt for him to feast his eyes on greedily before he sticks his not unimpressive dick inside me.

This fuck is fast and awkward and exactly what I want; a fuck that is almost a wank for both of us – him pistoning into me, gripping my thighs to keep him upright; me rubbing my clit as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure rises through my body like liquor.

He comes quickly, of course he does; the frantic clutching of my cunt setting him off as he spurts inside me for longer than I’d expected him to. I feel deliciously full even as he slithers out of me. Red faced.

He’s ashamed. Ashamed he fucked the office temp. The minimum wage lackey. Ashamed he filled her full of cum without checking if she was on the pill and what if the stupid slut gets pregnant and sues for child maintenance?

I giggle as he shuffles away to clean himself off and reach for the paperweight again.

 
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4 thoughts on “Serving Girl

  1. I tend to like stories where he is the more powerful person, it suits my kink, but I found this insanely hot. I think because she is just so brazen and bold and that is damn sexy

    Mollyx

    Like

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