Yvonne Snow
When you love your job but have an infruiriating boss what do you do. Endure?
Well my name is Yvonne Snow and I work with an advertising brand company. I obviously love my job but the one thing is I have a boss who literally gets off on humiliating me. I can't count the number of times he's reduced me to tears right there in the office, usually in front of other people.
Take today for instance. I was late, my car had to decided to fail me once again so I had to board a bus to get to work.. Thanks to my shitty luck I missed the first bus and after much cursing, swearing and finally an aggressive gangsta mode I was able to hitch a ride with the next bus.. Long story short I had practically ran like a mad woman from the very moment i realized just how fucking late I was
It was later I soon realized I had gotten on the wrong bus, especially when I was halfway across the other side of town. Shit
That was when I knew I was in deep trouble, immediately I went to meet the driver and thankfully was dropped when we go to the nearest bus stop . With yet another episode of me running on high heels, almost twisting my ankle in the process I was able to make my way around and boarded yet another bus.
This time she made sure to look to know she was headed to the right direction, My boss was going to be very, very upset, and when he was upset he made sure I paid dearly, riding my ass every chance he got.
I rushed into the office half an hour late and the middle-aged receptionist gave me a frigid glare, her specialty.
"The clients are here and the meeting has started," she informed me. "Mr. Wellington is not happy."
I grimaced in response, scooted past her, grabbed some files from my desk and skidded down the hall to the conference room. I knocked almost inaudibly and entered.
All eyes turned to me, eyes in white faces atop dark suits, all interchangeable except for the one seated at the head of the table. I looked at him in dread and fear. I had hoped to be able to escape his constant scolding today but that seems inevitable. Her boss looked really cold, He was tanned and swarthy, but that did not account for the darkness in his face, that darkness was pure rage. Mr. Wellington's sneer rested on my face for a moment and I shivered. He was furious—I could tell by the hard lines of his jaw and the tightening around his eyes. I failed to find my voice and just stood there like an idiot while he glared at me, then his gaze slowly dropped to the front of my shirt and stayed there.
What was the matter with him? I glanced around the room in panic and realized that every one of those men was staring at the front of my shirt as well. I looked down and, to my horror, realized that the top button of my shirt had become undone and I was standing there in front of my boss and all his important clients with my lacy pink bra fully exposed boobs swelling out the top.
My hand shot to cover my cleavage and my eyes returned to my boss in horror. He looked like he was on the verge of rising up and strangling me. I took an involuntary step back, banging my heel on the door frame.
"I see you've finally decided to bestow your presence on us, Miss Yvonne. Gentlemen, this is my personal assistant. She will eventually say good morning to you, leave the room and finish dressing, then return here with the files we need for the demonstration. She will also apologize for her tardiness which is not at all unusual, by the way and hopefully we will be able to get on with the business of this meeting. Am I correct, Miss Yvonne?"
Immediately I went beet red. Snickers, guffaws and sotto voce comments made their way around the room as I stood there holding my shirt together with my fist and balancing a pile of files in the other hand while the strap of my bag slid down my arm. I stared at my boss, speechless. I thought my skin would catch afire; my face and neck were burning with embarrassment.
I turned around, let go of the front of my shirt, snatched at the doorknob, opened the door and ran. That was just the tip of the iceberg of what my day always looks like...
When the meeting was finally over and the last of the clients had left the room, escorted by the secretary, I tried to make my escape but my boss was quicker; he locked the door and turned to me. He folded his hands in front of his immaculate jacket that could not conceal the powerful body beneath, and rocked back on his heels, surveying me through slitted dark eyes. I looked up at him and backed away slowly. For every step I took back, he took one forward until I was brought up short by the conference table.
"That was a hell of a performance you put on this morning, Miss Yvonne." He insisted on pronouncing my name with a snide. Of course He did it on purpose, just to upset me. I gritted my teeth but held my tongue as he continued his tirade.
"I'm probably the laughing stock of the advertising company right now. He took another step forward so he was mere inches away from me, a bristling, dangerous presence. I could feel his heat, his anger. A muscle twitched in his jaw; his teeth were clenched. He balled his hands into fists and knocked them together.
"I...I...the bus was late and—and—I got on the wrong one—" I was breathless, and I felt perspiration prickling my brow despite the coldness of the room. I felt trapped, cornered. I wanted to bolt but I would have had to go through my boss, an impossible feat. He was tall, well-muscled, and his body was so close I could smell his skin with its faint whisper of aftershave mixed with his elusive personal scent. I stared into his eyes, transfixed, desperate.
"I'm sick and tired of your excuses. You walked into my meeting late, in that tight skirt, showing off your ass, and your big tits hanging out in front of my important clients. You ruined the presentation. You could not find the slideshows." He was bending forward now, his face almost touching mine. I was shaking, staring into his furious eyes, mesmerized.
"When are you going to stop embarrassing me, Miss Yvonne?"
"I'm sorry..."
"Shut the fuck up!" He ground out the command and I obeyed. His body was touching mine now. He shoved it up against me, and I could feel his rock-hard cock straining against the fabric of his immaculate pants. He swiveled his hips slowly so that I could really feel it, rubbed his big obscene prick against the front of my skirt, then he thrust hard. I gasped at the sudden impact of that threatening hard thing against the soft flesh of my pussy. I could feel the wetness seeping out of me, soaking my thong, making me feel hot and horny. Beads of perspiration now formed on my upper lip. I was panting.
His head descended, his lips ground against mine, forcing them apart, and his tongue pushed its way into my resisting mouth. He was devouring my mouth with his, his tongue exploring my moist recesses with arrogant force, breaking away to nibble and suck at my chin, my face, then resuming his plundering of my mouth while he continued to grind his steely hard cock against my private places.
I pulled my face away from his. I was panting with fear and excitement, my heart pounding in my breast, pulsing between my legs. My fingers were splayed against the rigid muscles of his chest, trying in vain to push him away. His hands were like metal bands holding my hips so my lower body remained stationary as he rubbed his groin against mine rhythmically, relentlessly. In order to pull my face away I had to arch backward over the table.
Bad move. He released his stranglehold on my left hip and, swift as sleight-of-hand, unbuttoned the front of my blouse.
"Please—Mr. Wellington!" I gasped.
A second hand joined the first, slipping behind my back and unhooking my bright pink lacy bra, pushing it up and exposing my breasts. The bite of the air conditioning immediately made my nipples, already peaked with excitement, contract into hard points, and his mouth descended on first one, then the other, sucking hard and making me writhe with pleasure that I fought with my last shreds of resistance, then I gave up the futile battle of wills and surrendered to the ecstatic electrical impulses shooting through my body, making me moan and writhe against him.
He pulled away and stepped back, watching me for a moment leaning there panting with my shirt hanging off my shoulders, my bra pushed up to my throat and my firm dark breasts on flagrant display, nipples pointed to the ceiling, glistening wet from his attentions.
"Turn around," he grated.
"No! Please, not here! Not now!" I attempted to pull my bra down and get my clothes together but he grabbed me and swung me around with a savage curse, bending me face down over the conference table.
"No..!" I moaned, as his hard hands caressed my high round ass through my black crepe skirt. He held the tab of the zipper, pulled it down swiftly, and tugged my skirt down around my ankles, revealing my thong that matched my bra.
"Please, Mr. Wellington..." I was bent forward over the shining mahogany table, his laptop and my pile of files just inches away, and my ass on full display. I did not dare move, but I looked back over my shoulder and he was just standing there staring at my ass, his eyes slitted and his lips parted, his erection defeating the restraints of his pants and underwear and making itself very much evident. He raised his arm and it descended swiftly in a loud slap on my ass that made my eyes sting and my legs tremble.
"I won't come in late again, I promise..."
Another slap descended on the other ass-cheek, and this time the tears flooded my eyes and threatened to run over. He slapped my ass again, and again with his hard callused hand. When he slapped me the fourth time he did not raise his hand but traced the crack of my ass with his fingers, down and under, and grazed my coco lightly, then more firmly. The pleasure shot into my stomach and I squirmed. He pulled my thong aside and invaded the soft folds of my pussy, sliding his fingers back and forth in its slippery wetness, driving me out of my mind with the sweetness of his mastering touch.
"Look at me," he rasped, and I looked over my shoulder again. He stared me in the eyes and I could not break the contact as he slipped two fingers into me, withdrew them, sniffed at them and then licked them clean.
"Your ass was made for fucking—so firm, and round, and black. It's the perfect ass. I think my cock has found a new home today."
"NO!" I swung around, panting, and glared at him. "Don't not here please.
He grabbed me and wrestled me around so my head was once more touching the table, his muscular body imprisoning me, and he held my hands in a vise-grip behind me. I might have been struggling with a rock. He spread my legs with his knee and then slapped my ass again, first one cheek and then the other, then he put his hand between my legs and delivered a series of short, swift slaps to my wet dripping pussy. The pleasure was so intense that my knees buckled and I almost slipped to the floor, but he pushed me back up against the table.
I hated that he could do that to me, make me tremble with the sweetness of his touch, his handling of my wet pussy.
"He let go of me for a moment and I swung around in time to see him unzip his pants and pull them along with his boxers down, stepping out of them. His jacket was already off; he now pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt quickly; it joined the jacket on the back of a chair. He turned to me and smiled a hard, smile that didn't reach his eyes.
I tried to make a dash to the door, tripping on my skirt, and remembered my state of undress. I swung in the direction of the bathroom that was attached to the conference room. If I got in there and locked the door...
Before I could make two steps he grabbed me again, held my hands as I tried to wriggle away, and bit me hard on the shoulder. I moaned, and he bit me on my neck, then suctioned the flesh there with his mouth while one hand massaged my clit, making me gasp and back up against him, rubbing my ass against his immense cock with was already dripping with precum.
He imprisoned my writhing body and pushed me ahead of him, bending me over the conference table once more. I glanced up and became conscious of the huge picture windows that ran the width of the conference room. The vertical blinds were drawn right back and the brilliant sunlight streamed into the room. If anyone in the office building opposite happened to look through their picture windows to ours they would see a slim, busty woman bent over a table while a naked, tanned and muscular man held her down and...
I looked over my shoulder again as my boss spread my legs with his knee once more. He was holding his long, thick cock now, stroking it, and then he slapped it against my sore ass-cheeks several times so I could appreciate the heft of it. I shivered. I knew what that thick hard cock could do. My punishment would be memorable.
Mr. Wellington pushed the huge head of his cock, his great big cock against my dripping wet cunt and began to rock his hips back and forth, pushing into my eager flesh. I tried to fight him, to clench and close him off, but he pushed right past my resistance, making me moan in ecstasy, and...
The phone shrilled, shocking us out of our world..
"Fuck." His voice was savage as he pulled out of me. "Don't move. Move your cunt an inch and I'll whip your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a month." I stayed where I was, my ass cocked up and my needy pussy clutching at empty air, my gushing juices cooling fast in the air-conditioned room. I wanted his hot cock back, needed it.
He picked up the instrument and I felt bereft of that big cock, filling me up, pumping into me and stretching me almost beyond endurance. I was jiggling with impatience.
"Yes," he snapped, and listened for a moment. "Hold my calls. Tell them I'm running late but I'll be there as soon as I can." He stabbed the ‘end' button with an index finger and I rolled my ass at him. He dropped the phone, cursed, picked it up and slung it on to the table. Then he took up a position behind me again and slammed his cock into me, all of it, and I cried out in pleasure.
He hammered his ramrod cock into me as he spoke, harder and harder, faster and faster, and I was beside myself, gyrating my hips to feel him with every corner of my pussy slapping my ass back into him in time to his rhythm. Just when I thought I couldn't stand it any longer, some brave soul—they all knew to stay clear of him when he was angry—knocked on the door and my rhythm faltered. His didn't.
"Go away!" he roared, and continued pistoning into me, harder and harder, until we both convulsed moaning and making guttural sounds as he gushed his load into me and the pleasure shook me again and again, setting off fireworks in every nerve. I arched against him. My cunt was on fire, on fire, and the fire spread through every cell of my body so that I shook uncontrollably. He was bent over me, groaning, his big, muscular body enclosing mine as the contractions of my dripping wet pussy as it squeezed his massive twitching cock again and again, wringing every last drop of sweetness from it, while our sweat mingled and streamed on to the table and his hands squeezed my breasts in spasms.
We stayed like that until our breathing slowed a little and the fog of lust lifted. Then he let go of my breasts, giving the nipples a final tweak, and knelt and lapped at my pussy from behind, licking up my musky juices. I looked around as he did this, the thick eyelashes downcast as his eyes closed in ecstasy, and he sensed my stare and looked up, his eyes fierce and sodden with sated desire.
He stood, paused for a moment in all his naked magnificence, then picked up his clothes and began to put them on. I stared at his cock, still half-erect, as he stuffed it into his boxers.
His cock was massive, it was a wonder how he could fit through her. He made her feel every fucking inch of him...
I straightened up, still looking at him over my shoulder, lord, he was something to look at, the muscles in his arms rippling with his movements and he snapped at me.
"Get back down, you cunt, and don't move until I tell you to."
I bent back over the table as he buttoned his shirt and stuffed the tails into his pants, fastened his belt, staring at my ass and my pussy. Bent over as I was, he had a great vantage point. Then he swung away and strode to the bathroom to clean up some more and I remained in position, my breasts squashed against the table and my legs spread-eagled, the cold air cooling his sweet juices running out of me and down my legs that were shaky in the aftermath of Mr. Wellington's assault on my body.
I was still in position when he came out, picked up his phone and laptop and went to the door where he paused, his hand on the knob, and glanced back at me.
"Oh, and another thing. You turn up here late one more time and your pretty little virgin ass is mine."
The air left my lungs in a rush. I didn't look at him as I whispered, "Yes, Mr. Wellington," and he left, making sure to push in the lock. I closed my eyes as the door slammed behind him, then pushed away from the table and straightened up slowly. In ten minutes I would be back at my desk, fully dressed and with every hair in place, my eyes red from having frantically rubbed them in the bathroom to give the impression I had been crying. I would sit at my desk for a while pretending to work and feeling the pitying eyes of my co-workers on me.
I had gotten the boss mad, and they would be sure he had given me a tongue-lashing that had reduced me to tears once again. I would get up, eyes downcast, and leave the office for lunch. I would leave alone, because no one wanted to associate with the company scapegoat in case some of the taint rubbed off on them. What they would not guess, could not guess, was that the blood ran like honey in my veins and I could still feel the ghost of my boss's cock in my pussy, making it sing and purr in the aftermath of his furious rampage on it, on me.
It was all I could do to walk normally—I wanted to wiggle, to roll my ass, to touch myself down there and make sure he hadn't found some dark, mysterious and supernatural way of leaving his cock inside of me. Mr. Wellington was human and incubus all wrapped up in one dangerous package.
But for a few minutes I just stretched out on the rug on the floor of the conference room and allowed the thrilling in my body to subside in cool, blissful solitude as I replayed the last half hour, up to the end when he strode to the bathroom, his mind already elsewhere, preoccupied with other matters that took precedence over his disciplining of a troublesome employee.
I loved to daydream about him. Mr. Wellington might be a bastard but physically he was magnificent. His shining black hair, usually combed back sleekly, had been tousled in the aftermath of our frenzied coupling. He had the body of his Greek ancestors, those men who had posed for the sculptors of marble statues of the gods of his forefathers that littered antiquity. His eyebrows were dark and thick, matching the thick black fringe of his eyelashes. He had the eyes of a conqueror, and of a satyr, eyes that blazed with passion one moment, smoldered with fury the next, and were utterly irresistible either way. I drowned in them willingly, over and over, forever and ever, into infinity.
He was an animal, with only the most tenuous control over his rapacious sexuality, and he thrilled me to my bones. The angrier I got him, the harder he rode me. I was addicted to his hard riding, his hard face, his strong, muscular body, his volatility, his giant marauding cock. I lived for it. I was already plotting more and ways to make him lose his temper.