over my face and tits as he orgasmed. I smiled
with smug satisfaction, licking at a droplet of semen that had landed on my
lips. Mr. Black stood stock-still for a long moment, then adjusted himself,
zipping his pants up again.
“Get out of here,” he said
stiffly. “Clean yourself up, then send Charles to me.” He turned his back to
me.
I was confused, and, frankly, a
little hurt. Here I was, all hot and bothered after being totally dominated,
slathered in my sexy boss’s semen, having given what I thought was a stellar
blowjob, and that’s the thanks I got? Frowning, I gathered the remains of my
blouse together and headed off to the bathroom to wipe down. Fortunately, there
was a closet of extra clothing for me in the upstairs hall. I changed and sent
Charles in to Mr. Black’s office, brainstorming how to get him to let loose
like that again.
Imagine my dismay when I could
barely get him to look at me for the rest of the week. He didn’t even say
anything when I intentionally put one too many sugar cubes in his coffee,
although I could tell from his moue of disgust that he noticed. I purposefully
left my buttons unbuttoned low, hiked my skirts up, anything I could think of.
I’d pretty much given up by Friday afternoon, but my hopes were rekindled when
Mr. Black slunk out of his office and sat at the chair in front of my desk.
“Ms. Rousseau. Cerise. We need to
talk,” he said seriously. “What I did the other day—that was totally
unacceptable. I don’t believe it’s a good idea for you to work here anymore.”
“No!” I cried, dismayed.
“It’s all my fault, of course.
I’m granting you a severance check that should more than make up for my...
breach of decorum.” He handed me a check. My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull
when I saw the amount, but I steeled myself.
“I don’t want your money,” I said
bravely, tearing the check in half. “Unless I’m working for it, that is. I want
to do what we did again.”
“Pardon?” he said, his voice like
a glacier. “You must be mistaken. I—”
“I really, really liked it,” I
whispered, flushing. “You taking over like that.”
He sat stone-silent for a long
minute. “If that’s true...” Mr. Black said slowly. “If that’s true, would you
care to accompany me for dinner this evening?”
“Mr. Black!” I exclaimed, leaping
to my feet. “I would love to. Am I un-fired?”
“We’ll see,” he said, the corner
of his mouth twitching up. “And call me Carter.”
When I got home, I tore through
my closets searching for something nice enough to wear on a date with a man
like Carter Black. I’d thrown everything I owned onto the floor in a fit of
panic and was on the verge of tears when my doorbell rang. It was a deliveryman
with a garment bag and several boxes of what appeared to be accessories. I
signed for the packages, then whisked them inside.
The garment bag had a note on the
front: Cerise, I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of procuring
you an outfit for tonight. Consider this my apology. -C.G. I gasped as I
unzipped the garment bag. Out slid the most elegant dress I’d ever seen. It was
floor-length, and the perfect shade of wine-red. I could tell by the weight and
the shine of the fabric that it was top quality—not that I knew anything about
silk, of course. It fit me like a glove. I didn’t know how he did it—he’d never
taken my measurements for either my work clothes or for this, but the dress fit
like it had been made just for me. The other boxes included a spectacular (if
precariously tall) pair of black pumps, earrings and a necklace that I was sure couldn’t be real diamonds, and—
I gasped, nearly dropping the
last box. My hands shaking a little, I pulled out a black lace teddy and a
thong that was barely more than a string. “Carter, you naughty boy,” I
murmured, setting them aside. There were two more things in the box, obscured
by tissue paper. My face had turned about 50 shades of
with smug satisfaction, licking at a droplet of semen that had landed on my
lips. Mr. Black stood stock-still for a long moment, then adjusted himself,
zipping his pants up again.
“Get out of here,” he said
stiffly. “Clean yourself up, then send Charles to me.” He turned his back to
me.
I was confused, and, frankly, a
little hurt. Here I was, all hot and bothered after being totally dominated,
slathered in my sexy boss’s semen, having given what I thought was a stellar
blowjob, and that’s the thanks I got? Frowning, I gathered the remains of my
blouse together and headed off to the bathroom to wipe down. Fortunately, there
was a closet of extra clothing for me in the upstairs hall. I changed and sent
Charles in to Mr. Black’s office, brainstorming how to get him to let loose
like that again.
Imagine my dismay when I could
barely get him to look at me for the rest of the week. He didn’t even say
anything when I intentionally put one too many sugar cubes in his coffee,
although I could tell from his moue of disgust that he noticed. I purposefully
left my buttons unbuttoned low, hiked my skirts up, anything I could think of.
I’d pretty much given up by Friday afternoon, but my hopes were rekindled when
Mr. Black slunk out of his office and sat at the chair in front of my desk.
“Ms. Rousseau. Cerise. We need to
talk,” he said seriously. “What I did the other day—that was totally
unacceptable. I don’t believe it’s a good idea for you to work here anymore.”
“No!” I cried, dismayed.
“It’s all my fault, of course.
I’m granting you a severance check that should more than make up for my...
breach of decorum.” He handed me a check. My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull
when I saw the amount, but I steeled myself.
“I don’t want your money,” I said
bravely, tearing the check in half. “Unless I’m working for it, that is. I want
to do what we did again.”
“Pardon?” he said, his voice like
a glacier. “You must be mistaken. I—”
“I really, really liked it,” I
whispered, flushing. “You taking over like that.”
He sat stone-silent for a long
minute. “If that’s true...” Mr. Black said slowly. “If that’s true, would you
care to accompany me for dinner this evening?”
“Mr. Black!” I exclaimed, leaping
to my feet. “I would love to. Am I un-fired?”
“We’ll see,” he said, the corner
of his mouth twitching up. “And call me Carter.”
When I got home, I tore through
my closets searching for something nice enough to wear on a date with a man
like Carter Black. I’d thrown everything I owned onto the floor in a fit of
panic and was on the verge of tears when my doorbell rang. It was a deliveryman
with a garment bag and several boxes of what appeared to be accessories. I
signed for the packages, then whisked them inside.
The garment bag had a note on the
front: Cerise, I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of procuring
you an outfit for tonight. Consider this my apology. -C.G. I gasped as I
unzipped the garment bag. Out slid the most elegant dress I’d ever seen. It was
floor-length, and the perfect shade of wine-red. I could tell by the weight and
the shine of the fabric that it was top quality—not that I knew anything about
silk, of course. It fit me like a glove. I didn’t know how he did it—he’d never
taken my measurements for either my work clothes or for this, but the dress fit
like it had been made just for me. The other boxes included a spectacular (if
precariously tall) pair of black pumps, earrings and a necklace that I was sure couldn’t be real diamonds, and—
I gasped, nearly dropping the
last box. My hands shaking a little, I pulled out a black lace teddy and a
thong that was barely more than a string. “Carter, you naughty boy,” I
murmured, setting them aside. There were two more things in the box, obscured
by tissue paper. My face had turned about 50 shades of
Similar Books
