My name is Jessica.
I’m in a vulnerable state of mind right now and I might regret it later, but I would like to make a confession. A dirty confession. Because what I did today was dirty. Dirty, improper and risqué…yet it felt so good.
Why do I feel the need to confess? Because thinking about it, mentally replaying details of the dirty deed, is simply making my head spin in crazy circles. I might be silly, desperate perhaps, but I’m hoping that sharing my naughty secret will somehow make the spinning go away.
I did it just this morning. Did it at work, and did it during regular office hours, just before lunch time in fact. Did it in a bright light of a sunny day, and in an office building full of people. And I did it with the person I thought I despised. The scariest part? I enjoyed it way too much.
I’m still quite confused about the whole affair; still trying to make sense of what happened. Did I really do…that? With him? I’m at home, in my cozy bed right now. I feel safe and comfortable here. Like this is the only place the mystery of this morning could be solved. The T.V. is on, but I’m not really watching. A bottle of my favorite wine sits on a bedside table to my right. I’m ready for my third glass. Just poured it. Maybe little more alcohol will make it easier for me talk. Perhaps it will prevent me from gagging on the indecent words that I will need to utter in order to describe what happened.
I need a minute to work myself up to confession time; wine hasn’t numbed my senses sufficiently just yet. Perhaps, instead of jumping right into it then, I will start things slow and easy, and tell you a little about myself first. Go back in time a bit and describe the chain of strange events that lead to the indecent encounter of this morning.
I’m a thirty-something former exotic dancer. Stripper if you prefer.
If you are wondering how I got into stripping, this is how. Dissatisfied with a life style that included used clothing and discounted produce, my college roommate and I decided one day that enough was enough. Living broke wasn’t the “adventure” that we imagined it would be, and the two of us saw exotic dancing as quick way out of our miserable state of poverty. It was just supposed to be a short term venture, only until we’ve gotten ourselves out of the hole. But we both fell in love with the stripping world from the very beginning, from day one in fact, and our short term anti-poverty venture turned into years of wild party and easy money.
But that’s in the past. I have been out of the strip club and living the “regular life” — or so my husband calls it — for almost a year now. Things are pretty good for me so far, no complaints, but I miss my old life sometimes. Stripping has been a big part of my life for more than a decade, so it’s only natural I guess. I wish I could’ve stayed on for longer. But getting naked for money is not the type of a job that you can continue on forever, so when Paul and I got engaged, we decided that day of our wedding would officially mark the end of my days in the “biz”. And that is what happened indeed.
Since I didn’t really have any “regular job” experience and my resume was only a page long, I was concerned about finding a nice office position — but to my surprise — I landed one faster than I thought I would. I’m proud to announce that for the past ten months I have been working as a Purchasing Assistant for a successful car part manufacturing company and doing an exemplary job.
I like my job a lot. It’s not what I’m used to in terms of money, but it actually isn’t too bad paycheck-wise at all. And the office is only a ten minute drive from my home, which is a big convenience and a huge time saver. But a more important reason than that is the fact that most of my co-workers are super nice people and I enjoy the easy-going atmosphere at the office. Everybody likes and respects me here. No one, of course, knows of my previous life as a stripper or they would not feel the same way about me, I’m sure of it.
I feel lucky to be working here and consider this to be a great job, perhaps the perfect job — or — so I did. Things at the office changed for me just a couple of weeks ago when a bit of a problem suddenly developed. The problem had to do with the President of my company who expressed a sexual interest in me and has approached me in the most unusual way.
But to be fair, I sort of brought this problem on myself. I will explain shortly.
A guy coming on to me wouldn’t normally be much of an issue. If not much else, years of working at the strip club have taught me the valuable skill of “Painless and Effective Rejection”, a technique I had to resort to on frequent occasions while dealing with horny customers. I was a master at this, able to deflect unwanted sexual advances from countless suitors in a way that preserved their fragile male egos, and kept their self-esteem intact. Worked most of the time. As an adult entertainer, you have to learn this sort of thing or you lose a tone of regulars. Bad for business.
But my current predicament was of a slightly different nature as Mister George Panetta — my new boss — happened to be the most intimidating man I have ever met. More than intimidating, George was an insensitive jerk who didn’t give a shit about anybody but himself. My delicate “Painless and Effective Rejection” would not stand a chance with this prick, I was sure of it.
George enjoyed the power he had over people, and used it to humiliate those around him every chance he got. It was uncomfortable to sometimes sit there in a weekly production meeting and watch him relentlessly pick on his “victim of the day”. Interrogating, blaming and wagging his finger, he was usually successful at making the poor person stutter, blush or cry. He just loved having that effect on people.
But insensitivity wasn’t the only unfavorable trait that George was known for. He also had a reputation of being an oversexed pig, who sadly chased after some of his female coworkers. According to Janet, the office Know-it-All, George has had sexual relationships with a number of women working at our office. Janet said that if George decided that he wanted to fuck you, it would become his personal goal to get in your pants no matter what and that he would be relentless in his pursuit.
Most of the time there was no problem. Many of the women on his “to-do list” appreciated the attention from the boss and rewarded it generously. Perhaps others thought that fucking the guy in charge would further their careers, and didn’t mind putting in the “special” overtime. And the few that resisted his sexual advances…let’s just say would suddenly find the atmosphere at work to be a lot less pleasant than it used to be. Most of them simply quit.
My perv-radar went off the very first time I laid my eyes on George, but I wasn’t sure if I believed all the things that Janet was saying about him. Would a company’s President be as dumb as to sexually pursue his own employees? That’s sexual harassment and never ends well, no matter how important you might think you are. Yet…he was clearly giving off that “dirty-pig” vibe I was so familiar with, so maybe the idea wasn’t as ridiculous as it sounded.
Janet liked telling naughty tales about George’s sexual adventures. Again, like a lot things that Janet has told me over the months I have known her, many of her stories sounded pretty far-fetched, and I often wondered if she was simply making them up. But I didn’t really care. I was a sucker for a dirty story and intently listened to them all, not particularly concerned about their truth vs. fiction factor.
My favorite must be the Cleaning Lady story. Here is how it goes:
As Janet tells it, late into the evening one summer day, Mrs. Jones — our company’s cleaning lady — happened to open the door leading into George’s office. All the poor woman wanted was to clean the last office of her busy day and go home. But events that followed took a very different turn. Mrs. Jones froze in her shoes when she looked beyond the door and saw… what she saw.
Maybe it wasn’t so much what she saw as who she saw. And who she saw was George, the man who — for reasons she couldn’t clearly articulate — scared the living lights out of her. To ever run into him like this, would be the last thing she’d ever wish for, but there he was now, big and tall, and standing only feet away from the doorway she was in. This startled the woman who didn’t expect to run into anybody there this later hour of the evening, George especially. She looked a little closer and was shocked by the fact that this man she feared so much…was not wearing any pants!
George’s dress pants — a messy pile — lay on the floor beside him. Without them, his most intimate area was completely exposed and out there for Mrs. Jones to see. And that’s when she saw IT — George’s erect penis. It was large and hard, and to her horror, pointing straight in her direction. Due to sudden shock and surprise, all the muscles of the woman’s body quickly tensed and stiffened, and she was suddenly unable to move. Her brain was telling her to turn around and run, but her legs — limp as jelly — just wouldn’t follow the command. She fell into a weird state of a short-term-paralysis and had no choice but to stand there and gape, her eyes wide from shock, soon registering the fact that another person was there in the office with George. The other person was Martha, the Polish girl from accounting.
Martha was in an awkward half-squat, half-kneel position, down on the floor and in between George’s spread-out legs. She was holding onto his thighs for support and appeared to be in a process of eating his testicles as his “sack” was entirely engulfed by her mouth. Just under the shaft of his stiff penis — turned upward and cocked to one side — Martha’s head was bobbing in a rhythmic back-and-forth as moist suckling noises filled the quiet room with the naughty sounds of oral sex.
Martha was an attractive lady but not the brightest Accounting Clerk the world had seen and many wondered how she managed to keep her job for as long as she did. Mrs. Jones just figured out the answer to that question. Evidently, Martha had a set of very special skills that more than made up for what she was lacking talent-wise on the accounting front.
Sucking her boss’s balls to perfection was definitely one of Martha’s special skills. Still frozen with shock, and still unable to move, Mrs. Jones had no choice but to watch the pornographic scene unfolding a short distance away from where she stood. Mildly intrigued by it though, she was full of admiration for Martha, who was doing an excellent job on her oral task — working in a meticulous manner to ensure that George’s testicles were pleasured to his absolute satisfaction.
Martha was playful and creative too. She surprised George (Mrs. Jones too) by pulling an unexpected naughty trick. This is what she did: Giving no warning at all, Martha suddenly paused. Went completely still, as if frozen, George’s balls still inside of her mouth; sudden lack of movement making the pair look like a lifeless statue depicting a naughty sexual act. Few long seconds have passed and Mrs. Jones was beginning to worry. Was everything all right?
But everything was just fine. This was simply a strategic move on the part of Martha, one of her playful erotic tricks. This girl was a real pro, an experienced sex expert extremely comfortable with intricacies of the erotic pleasure game. She gave the excruciating pause just the right amount of time, and the moment that Al expressed his first sign impatience, she resumed her naughty activity…with an added a twist.
Martha sucked George’s testicles even deeper and tighter into her mouth and then slowly, very slowly, started to move her head in a downward direction, bringing the testicles with her and making them stretch away from the crotch area where they belonged. Mrs. Jones worried once again; was Martha planning to hurt the poor guy?
The man was, in fact, starting to show subtle signs of physical discomfort. His face twitched and grimaced, and he was quietly squealing under his breath. But despite all of that, the man did absolutely nothing to make Martha stop her torturous play. So she continued to pull and stretch with no mercy, turning George’s squeals into full-fetched screams. And just as Mrs. Jones thought that Martha had gone too far, she suddenly stopped what she was doing. Slowly retracting her head, the girl returned her boss’s testicles to their original position which brought ease to his facial expressions, and silenced his cries.
Despite the evident discomfort though, George did not seem to mind the mild erotic torture inflicted on him by Martha. “Good girl,” he said to her as he reached for his penis. “Keep on sucking my balls as I’m whacking off,” he whispered and then begun to vigorously stroke the length of his cock, occasionally brushing the side of Martha’s head in the process.
Facing the opposite way and engrossed in her sexual task, Martha didn’t notice Mrs. Jones standing in the door. But George saw her the second she appeared in his field of vision. Startled? Surprised? Embarrassed? He was none of that. In fact, George didn’t react to the woman’s presence there in any way other than to give her a little smile. The little smile said: “Keep on watching for a surprise.” So she did.
Having a spectator there seemed to have awoken a little of the performer inside of George who suddenly started playing things up for her benefit. Looking straight into her eyes, George increased the speed with which he was stroking his cock. He was getting louder too, uttering incoherent half-sentences as if trying to tell Mrs. Jones how much he enjoyed her company. His balls were still inside of Martha’s mouth but he was masturbating much faster now — his body violently jerking from the impact — and it was becoming more difficult for the girl to maintain her balance the way she was positioned in between his legs.
It soon became clear to Mrs. Jones that George was nearing his orgasm. His face tensed in that “I’m almost there expression” that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Just seconds away from it now, George was jerking off with so much vigor that Martha wasn’t able to continue sucking on his balls any longer and they fell out of her mouth with a sudden bounce. Moist and deliciously pink, they kept bouncing about as George masturbated on.
George maintained an intense eye contact with Mrs. Jones right up to the big moment. But then, the intense pleasure of his pre-climax took him away from the here-and-now and he was not able to focus on her face any longer. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body stiffened, a definite sign that he was there. Mrs. Jones watched as thick ribbons of creamy ejaculate flu across the room…straight in her direction…and a good amount of it landing right on her arm. And that’s what did it. The moment the blob of George’s cum glazed the skin of her arm, was the very moment that brought the woman out of her temporary state of freeze. She was finally able to move! She turned around and sprinted away from the live porno scene she had unwillingly endured.
So there you have it, my favorite “George” dirty story by Janet. She swears that it’s true but I have my doubts. Doesn’t really matter. If not much else, a fun thing to picture in your head. But getting back to my own situation now…
As I’ve already mentioned, I have a husband. Paul and I have not been married very long and until just recently, I still had that “newlywed” status around the office that made my co-workers ask stupid questions like: “How is married life treating you?” or “Are you pregnant yet?”
Annoying as it was, having the “newlywed” status had a real perk around the office as it discouraged George from potentially pursuing you in a sexual way. Not that in my case he would have in the first place; just saying. Janet said that George didn’t bother with women in new relationships. Too much work. George chased after women who were either unattached — or — married for long enough to appreciate a little extramarital attention.
But my situation was a little different now. Something that happened just a couple months back has changed a lot of things in my life. One of them being a brand way that George and others perceived my “newlywed” status.
My heart breaks every time I have to say it but there it is. Paul fucked up. Fucked up big time. Cheated on me with a fat bleach-blonde that he met in a sleazy bar after the two of us had a fight. Told me all about it. Desperate and horny, the big girl let my husband take her to a cheap motel, where she did nasty things to his cock. Dirty sexual favours I’ve never as much as imagined. Acted like she hasn’t seen or tasted cock in years. Kept urging him on: “Squirt on me big boy, squirt all over me”. And he did. Ended up coming all over her face. Why he felt the need to tell me every last detail of that nasty encounter, I will never know.
No surprise, we almost divorced over the incident. I even moved in with my mother for a few days, thinking at the time that I never wanted to see my husband again. At the end of it though, we sort of worked things out, and decided to give our marriage another try. But things between us have not been the same since.
Everyone at work knew about my unfortunate situation with Paul. My own fault. I was hurting badly and found that talking about my pain to a couple of girlfriends at the office, made me hurt a little less. I’m sure the girls didn’t mean to gossip and only told my sad story to “one other person”, but before I knew what hit me, I was on the receiving end of some serious pity-looks from all my co-workers.
All of my co-workers except for George that is, whose looks didn’t appear to be expressing any pity-related sentiments towards me whatsoever. Instead, his long and meaningful stares seemed to be telling me, “Fuck you soon and fuck you hard, girl.”
But learning about my unfortunate marital situation was not what gave George the green light to come after me sexually. I actually thought that he would’ve left me alone. What I believed fueled and encouraged him to peruse me was something stupid that I did (or rather said) while under the influence of wine. Let me explain.
So a couple of Fridays ago, a number of us from Purchasing decided to grab some drinks after work. We went out as a group frequently, jokingly calling these outings “team building” retreats. George rarely joined in. Too important to socialize with the little guys, was always my take on it. But this time around, for a reason I did not understand at the time, George showed up at our favorite neighbourhood pub and ordered a scotch.
Let me start by saying that ever since Paul’s infidelity, I have been drinking a little more than my norm. Just another way to try and cope with the stress of it all, I guess. Drinking around co-workers is never a good idea, and I should never have ordered that second glass of Shiraz. But I did. The alcohol hit me fast, and it hit me hard.
Forgetting that nobody really cared any more, yet again, I started pouring my heart out about Paul’s infidelity to a couple of girlfriends at my table. Why did he do this to me? How could he? Could I ever forgive him? And at the end of my rant something possessed me to say: “I swear that one of these days, I will get my revenge on Paul’s cheating ass; I’ll go out there and fuck, suck, deep throat, and jerk off as many guys as possible. And I will have them all come ejaculate my face, just like the bastard ejaculated all over the face of that slutty blonde.”
This was probably the most inappropriate thing that ever came out of my mouth. My usually open minded, and easy-going girlfriends looked at me with stunned expressions on their faces, making me realize in an instant that I have crossed the line. Worst part? George was sitting just a short distance away and heard every word I said.
I regretted my words immediately, but couldn’t take them back. What on earth possessed me to say a thing like that? I was still in a process of forgiving Paul for what he did, but cheating on him in revenge was never an option. This profane statement was simply the case of having too much to drink on a day that was particularly tough for me in the “forgive department”; it just came out of my mouth for no reason other than that.
But George stared in my direction while slowly sipping on his scotch — perverted smirk on his face — and I knew that as of that precise moment, I have made it to the very top of his “to-do” list. I fueled his already-dirty mind with sexually explicit images and dirty thoughts. I felt responsible for making George wanting to fuck me.
This was not a good situation to be in at all. This man had the power to screw with my job — the job I cared about so much. And at this difficult time in my life, with all that’s been going on with Paul, I really didn’t need another problem. What was I going to do? How was I going to handle this?
As I expected, George didn’t waste any time and called me on my phone extension first thing Monday morning. “Can you come and see me in my office, please?”
“What about Mr. Panetta?”
“I would like to discuss the troubling results of our last month’s Overstock Report.”
Overstock Report-my-ass, I thought to myself, but promptly replied, “Be right over.”
I took a deep breath and started an anxiety-filled trip passed the reception desk and down the hallway until I reached his office.
“Close the door behind you and sit down,” he said in a bossy tone, which I didn’t really appreciate.
I walked towards an expensive leather chair directly facing his desk, and deeply sunk into its ridiculously soft cushion. I felt trapped the minute I sat in the chair but desperately tried not to show my discomfort.
George clicked on his computer mouse and in an instant, a colorful chart popped up on his screen. A blue graph-line pointing upward, indicated that the company’s overstock levels were increasing at a drastic rate. And there was nothing that upset this man more than dead stock in our warehouse. The problem was the focus of our weekly production meetings, and the subject of countless emails. So I was ready for it.
But George made no mention of the blue graph-line on his screen. Instead, he shifted in his chair and fixed an intense gaze on me, the very same way he did on Friday night at the pub. Just stared at me like a creep, making me very, very uncomfortable. At my face at first, but then completely surprised me by shamelessly lowering his gaze toward my chest area, and by giving my breasts a thorough once-over. What nerve!
Knowing that morning that I might be dealing with George later on, I picked a plain-Jane outfit to wear to work that day. But under his perverted gaze, I felt like the old grey sweater I had on, was getting tighter and smaller the longer he looked on. I felt like all the curves, and all the bumps of my body were showing right through, including my nipples which, for some unexplained reason, were getting larger and harder the longer this weird situation was going on. What the hell was going on?
And just as I thought I couldn’t take another minute of this awkward meeting, just as I was getting ready to stand up and leave, George looked deeply into my eyes and broke the unpleasant silence. “Problems at home?” he asked.
So that’s how he was going to go about it.
“Oh gosh, not at all. Everything’s great. Really good.”
I was trying to sound convincing. Trying way too hard.
“Didn’t sound like it last Friday night,” he said.
“About that Mr. Panetta. I had way too much to drink that night and said some silly things that I didn’t mean to say. My behaviour was inappropriate and I deeply regret it. I’m sorry.” I wanted so desperately to just be done with it and leave.
George slightly cocked his head and looked at me skeptically.
“Bullshit,” he said.
My jaw dropped in surprise to this unexpected statement. Where was he going with this?
“Bullshit,” he said again. “You were not drunk, My Dear. Two measly glasses of red wine is not enough alcohol to make you drunk.”
Creepy. Was he watching me the entire night? Close enough to know how many glasses of wine I had? And how the hell would he know how much alcohol would, or would-not, make drunk? Asshole.
I cleared my throat. “Again, very sorry for my behaviour.”
He snickered under his breath.
“Let me spell it out again for you, Honey — you were not drunk. Not even a little. Alcohol had nothing to do with the way you acted. You knew exactly what you were saying. You also knew that I was listening. That’s right. What you said was for me to hear in a little game called seduction.”
What?! What the hell was he insinuating? Was he suggesting that I was somehow trying to encourage him sexually by uttering that inappropriate statement? The most ridicules thing I have ever heard! I was taken aback and so stunned I couldn’t even respond.
“There was more to it than the explicit statement too, Jessica. Just think about the way you acted that night. You were all sex and flirt, acting in a sexually charged manner that was unmistakably directed at me. You were plain teasing me the entire night. In a subtle way of course, even your girlfriends didn’t pick up on it. But you knew exactly what you were doing. Seductively touching your hair, sensually pouting your lips, licking the rim of your wine glass wine in a provocative way. You knew very well that my eyes were on you the entire time and you were loving the attention. Every second of it!”
I was beside myself.
“That’s outrageous! Once again — I was drunk. I barely knew you were even there!”
“You don’t get drunk that easily, Darling.”
What was with all the dears and darlings, who the hell did he think he was? I was getting more and more upset by the minute.
“You then took your sweater off.”
“I may have. Is it against the law to take off a layer of clothing when you are feeling warm?”
“That little tank top you wore underneath left very little to imagination. You didn’t waste any time either, putting those big breasts of yours to work right away. Bouncing and squirming in your chair almost to the point of making those delicious tits fall out of your top.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Making me hungry for you. Making me imagine what I would do to those tits if I could only touch them.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And your nipples–”
“My nipples what?”
“So large and hard that night, Jessica. Just like they are right now.”
I looked down at my chest and was horrified to discover that my nipples were, indeed, visibly large and hard to the point of showing through my sweater.
“Making me hungry for you. Making me want to touch those nipples. Kiss them maybe, suck and chew them, wet them with my tongue.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The President of the company I worked for…the big boss around here. Was he really saying these things to me? Unbelievable. Again, I completely understood that his sexual interest was partly of my own doing, but this? This was crossing all kinds of lines of inappropriate and unprofessional no matter who did what. I couldn’t let him talk to me this way any longer. I stood up and quickly walked out of his office slamming the door behind me.
I ran towards the ladies room and was relieved to find that no one was in it. I looked at the reflection of my face in a small mirror above the sink. It was beet red from the flush of heat I experienced while listing to Gorge’s indecent sex talk. I splashed cold water on my cheeks to cool down. The nerve of that guy! Suggesting that I was somehow interested in him sexually?! No way in hell!
Appalled as I was by what just transpired in George’s office, I could not help but wonder about two very strange things. The first was the state of my nipples, and the question of why they turned so hard and pointy during the meeting with this creep. And the second? The second was the issue of my pussy…and the incomprehensible reason behind the warm moisture in between its lips.
I was shaken up by the incident with George but didn’t tell anybody about it. I made a firm mental decision though. I would not give this asshole the opportunity to attempt his manipulative techniques on me again. I would avoid him as much as possible, plain ignore him, and — if he ever tried anything funny with me again — I would not hesitate but take the matter up with the company’s Human Resources Department.
But to my surprise, I didn’t hear from George in days that followed. Turned out he was the one ignoring me, not the other way around. Funny. Didn’t call me, didn’t come by my desk, didn’t request any more meetings. Did this mean that I had won? Did I make him realize that I wasn’t just another whore he could fuck just because he wanted to? Success! Looked like the jerk decided to leave me alone. Super, wonderful, great — I thought.
Or did I?
A little part deep inside of me quietly wondered if he had given up on me just a little too easy. Did he notice something unattractive about me during our meeting? Something ugly and smelly that made him conclude I wasn’t worth his time or effort? Self-doubt overwhelmed me. Maybe Paul saw the same thing in me the night he decided to ejaculate all over another woman’s face?
It’s not like me to feel insecure on the “attractive and desirable” front. I was one of the top girls at Erotica, the strip club I used to work at, and men simply adored me. Did something change since I quit dancing? Did office-Jessica lose the sex appeal of her stripper-Jessica counterpart? Evidence was piling up. The biggest pervert I’ve met since my stripping days, seemed to have given up on me after only one try. It’s what I wanted all long so it’s a good thing, I thought. But then there was the worsening situation with Paul.
Paul and I haven’t had sex in almost six weeks. We just argued so much. Night after night I was going to bed horny, fantasizing about my body being touched…my nipples sucked…my pussy licked. I was in a desperate need of an orgasm that would relieve some of the physical tension I felt all over. Masturbating could only satisfy me so much.
And this brings me to this morning. It’s confession time.
I was in a really bad mood when I arrived at the office this morning. It was a combination of things. Paul and I had another big fight last night. Needless to say, I didn’t get to ride his cock yet again and ended up sleeping alone. Upset with my husband and sexually frustrated too, I cried most of the night and didn’t get very much sleep. When my alarm went off, I felt so exhausted that I briefly considered calling in sick. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to be home alone with all my miserable thoughts. There was also the hormonal thing. Time of the month was only days away and I could feel it in my body. My breasts felt heavy, and my nipples hurt-and-itched — both at the same time — in a way that made me horny even more. My pelvic area felt tight, and there was this intense itch inside of my pussy that only a large hard cock could scratch better.
I felt irritated and frustrated. I was sitting on the edge on my chair and just vibrating inside. I was aggressively slamming on the keys of my keyboard while trying to type, which was completely freaking my co-workers out. But they didn’t say anything and left me alone to deal with my bad day.
Something happened then. Seemingly insignificant event that followed, pushed me over the edge of sanity and set into motion a chain of events that lead to — not sure yet — either the most repulsive sexual experience of my life, or, the most erotic one ever.
I was sitting at my desk, my head just fizzing with crazy range of contrasting emotions. I was tired, upset, and horny. Worried about my relationship with Paul and feeling uncertain about the future of my marriage. Where did I go wrong?
I was trying to reach my husband on his cell phone, but he wasn’t picking up. Tried a bunch of times but got his voice mail every time. Paranoia started setting in, and I was imagining the worst. He was at his ex-girlfriend’s house. The bitch recently separated from her husband and has been messaging Paul on Facebook.
I was always a little threatened by Alice. Perhaps because Paul slipped up one time and told me that of all the women he had slept with, his ex-girlfriend Alice had the best tits and gave the best tit fuck. Apparently, you couldn’t get a better tit fuck from anyone else in the entire world. What an idiot for saying a thing like that to his wife! My tired brain imagined that they were together right now. Paul sitting on Alice’s couch and she…the sexy bitch down on her knees letting him slide his cock up and down the warm fold in between her large tits.
I dialed again. I didn’t know what I would do if Paul didn’t answer this time around. On the third ring, his damn outgoing message again! I wanted to scream and to kick something, to throw the phone against the wall and break it into a thousand little pieces. I was on the verge of crazy now. And then–
I looked up and saw George. He was standing on the other side of my cubicle half-wall doing what he was so great at, which was staring at me like a creep. There was a hint of an arrogant smirk on his lips that made me want to punch him in the face.
When he walked away only seconds later, I just sat there for a while, confused and stunned. My brain was not functioning properly. It detached itself from reality of it all and floated somewhere between Paul’s “Please leave a message after the tone,” and the smirk on George’s face. Leave a message…smirk…leave a message…smirk. And then I lost it.
I slammed down the phone and got up from my chair. Not really in control of my own actions, almost as if hypnotized, I started to slowly walk towards George’s office, and before I could stop myself, I was inside it.
George was sitting behind his desk, looking down at his phone. For the first time ever, I didn’t feel intimidated by this man at all, didn’t feel a drop of fear. It was a feeling I enjoyed a lot.
He raised his head, but didn’t seem surprised to see me.
“Hi there,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“How you can help me?!” I yelled at him. “You can start by not sneaking up on me, and by not listening to my private phone conversations!”
He was calm. Cool as a cucumber. “Close the door,” he said.
“No, I am not closing your dumb door!”
“You are making a scene, Jessica. Please close the door.”
I looked over my shoulder and noticed that George’s secretary was curiously looking in our direction. I knew about her from Janet. She was one of his whores. Blew him right in his office at least twice a week. I never liked the woman and didn’t appreciate her attention now. So I decided to close the door.
“What is it Jessica?” He asked me as if he didn’t know.
“Like I said, it is rude to sneak up on people and listen to their private conversations!”
He laughed out loud, as if I’ve said something amusing.
“Conversations, you say?”
“Yes, I said ‘conversations’!” You jerk, I almost added.
“That activity you were briefly engaged in a few minutes ago was not a conversation, my Dear. In order to have a quote-unquote conversation you need at least two people. A pre-recorded greeting does not count as a person.”
I was fuming by now. This asshole plain enjoyed my misfortune and pain. So I was yelling at him even louder now. “I also didn’t appreciate our little meeting a couple weeks back, when you suggested that I was trying to seduce you that stupid Friday night at our work outing. The most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!”
The insecure part of me wanted me to ask him why he completely ignored me since that meeting. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, overwhelmed by everything that was happening to me, I felt weak and helpless, and to my absolute horror, I suddenly started to cry. Just couldn’t control it. Tears were pouring down my cheeks, and my chest was heaving. I felt like a complete idiot, but simply couldn’t stop myself.
George looked at me in a way that stirred me deep inside. Didn’t say anything for a good while but then, when he finally did speak, his words sent a jolt down my spine.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. I would never want to hurt you…Chantal.”
I froze. Did he call me Chantal? I haven’t heard anyone call me that name in months. Because Chantal used to be my stage name at Erotica. I looked at him carefully.
“Did you just call me Chantal?”
His desk phone rang at that very moment, and he reached over to get it. It was his assistant, calling him under some silly pretext, no question just dying to know what was going on in here.
“I will get back to you on that,” he said to whatever useless question she had asked him.
I was watching him closely while he spoke on the phone. His lips. His eyes. The big hand cradling the handset. He looked so familiar now.
“You remember me now, don’t you?” He said.
I did. I remembered George. How did I not see it before? George used to be one of my regulars. Ages ago. Back when he was about thirty pounds lighter, and back when wore a wild mustache. He changed a lot.
I closed my eyes and let my mind take me back to the place I used to love so much. I could picture the familiar surroundings, feel the unforgettable atmosphere. The reddish darkness of the place, the loud music, the glimmering stage… Oh, how I missed that place.
And then I pictured George — or rather — remembered one of our many erotic encounters. Wearing nothing but a pair of high heels, I was sitting on his massive lap playfully pulling on his mustache. He used to love it when I played with his mustache. Used to love it when I played with other body parts of his as well.
“You and I had some good times back in the day. You, me and two glasses of champagne inside one of those private booths at the back of the club. We did a lot of crazy things back then.”
Paul had no idea. Paul thought I was one of the clean girls, thought I would never let a customer touch me, thought I would never take a guy for a private lap dance inside one of those dirty sex booths. Because that’s what I told him and he believed me. But I lied. I didn’t do it with all the guys…just a handful over the years that I found myself having intense sexual feelings for. Feelings of physical attraction so strong, I could not resist or control.
George was the king of those guys. I was attracted to George big time. He was simply the manliest man I knew. Big, strong, tough. Didn’t put up with bullshit from anyone. And physically — half animal and half man. Raw and untamed in a sexy and provocative way. I still remembered the scent of his intoxicating cologne and how it used to drive me absolutely insane. I used to get so turned on while dancing for George, so horny. He and I used to do things…naughty things. Yes, all this while I was dating Paul.
“You used to open my pants and squirt peach-scented hand cream all over my cock. Once nice and slippery, you would grip my cock tightly and stroke it up and down and up and down, till it got large and hard.”
It would be a lie to say that I didn’t to these things. I did. I used to stroke George’s penis with a shameless passion while whispering obscene things into his ear. And as soon as I would get his cock to stiffen, I would throw a towel over his crotch and sit across his lap astride. My legs would open nice and wide, exposing my horny clit in the process. I would thrust myself against George’s large body and rub my pussy against the towel-covered hardness of his cock. Harder and faster, till I felt the orgasm take over my entire being. Orgasms with George were always so unbelievably good…like with nobody else.
“I could feel you come every time. I still remember how great that felt. Your body twitching with orgasmic convulsions, your eyes rolling back in your head, your mouth screaming dirty things into my ear.”
“Stop it, please.”
“I would wait for you to finish and then ejaculate all over your towel like a teenage boy. All this while Paul was waiting for you outside.”
No other man had this effect on me. Ever. I turned into this whole different person when I was with George. This horny bitch deep inside of me took over all of my thoughts and actions. When I was with George there was no guilt, no shame, no inhibition. No past or future. No Paul. All there was — was the primitive need to rub my pussy against his cock and to orgasm as intensely as I could. “You dirty whore,” he used to call me.
George made me feel things that I never felt before, evoked primal urges in me that I didn’t know I had. I used to think about him all the time, hoping each night that he’d show up at the club. I couldn’t wait to see him, to feel my towel soak up each and every last drop of his cum. Yes, all this while I was dating Paul.
“One day you just stopped coming by,” I said.
“I had to. I couldn’t stand the thought of another guy fucking you while you and I had this…special relationship. I had to wait till the time was right.”
He shifted in his seat again.
“The last time I saw you, I told you that you and I were made for each other, and that one day we would be together again. You were in love with Paul back then and didn’t see it my way.”
Wait a minute. So me working here…not a coincidence? Not the case of impressing Margaret, the Human Resources Manager, with my intelligent wit and freshly-acquired computer skills? Let me think a minute. How did I hear about this job opportunity? That’s right. The manager of Erotica emailed me the job posting not long after I quit dancing. I even called him after I got the job to say thank you. Gabriel. A super nice guy and a friend of mine, but also a friend of George’s. It all made sense now.
A calm feeling came over me. I no longer wanted to scream or cry. I didn’t even care if Paul was, in fact, fucking his ex-girlfriend’s tits while I was calling him on the phone. All I wanted at that moment was to sit down. I walked over to the leather chair and, like the other day, deeply sunk into its very soft cushion.
I closed my eyes again. Desperate to escape my miserable reality, my wreck of a brain took me down the memory lane again. I was back at the Erotica. I could hear the music and I could taste the champagne. I could also remember George so clearly now. George…and a thousand diffent ways he could make me come.
Thinking about it suddenly made me remember the horny state I was in. I could feel the whore in me emerging now and slowly taking over my mind and body. I was desperate for an orgasm. Didn’t have one in weeks and needed urgently to release some of the uncomfortable tension I felt all over. I wanted George badly.
When I opened my eyes, George was standing right beside the leather chair. Just an arm’s reach away. I could smell his intoxicating cologne; same cologne that used to drive me crazy horny all these years ago. His crotch was right at my eye level and I could see a major hard on in his pants. This made smile. I brought my hand over to his cock and griped it tightly through the fabric of his pants. His breathing became heavy the instant I did that.
He whispered: “Remember that one night at Christmas time?”
“You sucked on my cock and let me ejaculate inside of your mouth. ‘Merry Christmas’ you said to me right after, your mouth still full of my cum.”
“You were the only one–”
“Suck my cock again.”
He unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor. He pulled down his briefs and, as he did that, his cock sprang free almost slapping me in the face. I looked at it with lust. There was a drop of slimy pre-cum lazily glazing over its eye, and I wanted so badly to taste it. My mouth couldn’t quite reach his penis the way I was sitting, and I needed to readjust my body in the chair. I shifted from a sitting position to a kneeling one, my upper body stretching out over the arm of the chair.
I stuck my tongue out and licked around the tip of George’s cock until all of the tasty pre-cum was completely gone. It tasted divine. A salty drop of pleasure that made me hungry for more. I parted my lips and let George slide his cock deep inside my mouth.
It was much larger than what I was used to because Paul’s penis was only average in size. George’s cock filled the entire cavity of my mouth. It poked at the very back of my mouth making me gag a little, which I didn’t mind at all. Just the opposite — I loved the sensation of gagging on George’s insanely large penis. I was emerged in this hypnotic state of erotic discomfort-slash-pleasure and I didn’t want it to stop.
“I am going to fuck your mouth now and what I need from you, is to tell me how you would like me to come.”
He pulled his cock out of my mouth to let me answer but I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you want me to come inside of your mouth?” He asked.
I thought about that for a moment.
“No, George. I want a re-play of what Paul did to that slut the night he cheated on me. I want you to come on my face.”
George shoved his cock back into my mouth, faster and harder this time.
“Keep it nice and tight for me in there, and hold on baby, because you never had your mouth fucked the way that I will fuck it now.”
He went at it full blast. Thrusting his cock in and out of my mouth fast and rough, slamming it against the back of my throat wile his enormous balls slapped against my chin. He was going faster and faster, picking up the speed to an almost unbearable pace toward the end. I knew that his secretary was standing right outside of the door, listening to what was going on. But I didn’t care.
“Here I come!” George said a short while later.
He pulled out and pointed his cock at my face. I wrapped my hand around its base, and as soon as I squeezed it, creamy strands of cum started shooting out of its eye. So much of it. It squirted all over my face and as soon as it landed, it started a downward run toward my neck. The sensation of warm ejaculate on my face felt so unbelievably erotic. I closed my eyes to better take in the experience.
“Stand up,” George finally said to me.
He helped me out of the chair and hugged me from behind, wrapping his big arms around me. Strength and power just emanated from this man.
Paul was not a very large man and I never felt a dainty little female when I was with him. But it was a lot different with George who outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds. I found this drastic physical difference between us to be very, very arousing. Not that I needed to be aroused any more than I already was.
“Rest your foot on the edge of my desk,” he whispered into my ear.
I did what he said — lifted my left leg and raised it tall till my high-heeled shoe found the edge of George’s desk. My skirt bunched up around my hips as I did that, and I my pussy lips came wide apart. My underwear was completely soaked in my pussy juice.
I said loud enough for George’s secretary to hear, “I’m so fucking wet down there, George. And so horny. Please make me come.”
George reached over my shoulder and slid his right hand under the lacy fabric of my panties.
“That’s right,” he said. “It’s your time to come, Baby.”
He started to rub his fingers around my clit. I can’t explain how much pleasure that brought to my pussy. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the warm sensation of George’s cum slimily dripping down my face. The feel of it made the experience of my pre-orgasm so divinely intense.
I could feel some of his juicy ejaculate right above my lip. I snaked my tongue out of the corner of my mouth and licked it off. The sweet and salty taste of it on my tongue pushed me over the edge and set off my climax. I threw my head back and hit George’s chest with a force that made some of the strands of my hair fall onto my cum-glazed face. The hair just stuck to the creamy substance partially covering my face.
I knew this would be a big one. One that would fix it all. All the frustration, all the horniness, all the emotional pain. It felt like the good old days. George and I pleasuring each other again.
The intense wave of my orgasm made me weak and dizzy. I almost fell in faint, but George held me tight till I got some of my strength back.
“George,” I could only say.
Gorge smiled at me and reached toward his desk to grab some Kleenex.
“Turn around,” he said.
I turned to face him and let him tenderly wipe his cum off my face.
I’m fuzzy about what happened next. I’m not really sure how I got home, but here I am. In my bed and on my third glass of wine. Just made my dirty confession but don’t believe my head is spinning any less. Paul hasn’t called all day but I don’t really care. Because all I can think about right now is George — and how much I want to feel his cum on my face again.