Tasting Candy: Over 60 Erotic Pregnancy Stories

I wish I’d looked through that list of duties to see if ‘let me grab your ass’ was on it somewhere.

“On your knees then,” he said so firmly, so matter-of-factly. I was a little dazed, but his strong hand upon me guided me down, and I knelt beside his seat as I was ordered. His cruel disposition had vanished, or rather shifted, he was commanding still, but it had a different air to it then…

“Part those luscious lips,” he instructed, and I felt like a fool as I obeyed, and he very slowly offered me the food, placing it upon my tongue for me, leaving me to pull it from the fork.

“Good girl,” he husked in approval.

What the fuck was happening in my life?

My mind was spinning, and I had to close my eyes as I chewed. I knew this wasn’t right. I mean, I knew he wanted to play puppet master, but this was a whole other level.

Part of me wanted to just get off the floor and run home, find something else. Anything else had to be better and less degrading than being fed off my boss’ fork, kneeling on the floor at his side.

So why did I stay put? And why wouldn’t my body do what I wanted it to?

That cruel man who held my fate — and that of my families — in his hand, speared another forkful of food and fed it to me in turn. His hand stroking over my back, as if I were some dear pet and not a grown woman and employee.

“There you go. It’s nice to have some pleasant company for dinner for a change,” he said, smiling wryly as he continued the bizarre, demeaning ritual.

I shifted, my knees digging into the marble tile of his condo, my body trembling in barely suppressed rage, laced with desire. I was making myself sick, honestly. What type of person could even think of how great his thighs looked beneath his pants, or how strong his hand felt as it tenderly caressed my body?

I definitely should not be thinking that.

I should be thinking about getting the fuck out of here. No wonder his last maid quit.

So why wasn’t I moving? Why was I just staying?

Because this isn’t bad.

Shut up, subconscious.

I looked up at him, a furrow in my brows as I swallowed the latest bit of food.

His steady hand continued the ritualized feeding, while I watched his handsome, stern face contort to one of pleasure and amusement.

“You’re a very good girl,” he said in a breathy murmur. “I have a feeling you shall exceed in this new position of yours.” With that, he laid down the fork, the meal at an end as he smiled at me. “Now, clean up,” he said, in an almost patronly tone of voice.

Part of me was relieved, mainly the knees, because the floor was so hard! But I got up, took his dirty dishes and brought them away from the dining table in front of that massive window into the kitchen.

When I returned, he was gone, however. And I saw nor heard no sign of him the rest of that night.

My first night with my boss was so bizarre, but after that I had the time to read over the instructions in full. Martin had neglected to tell me about it, but the tablet contained an extensively detailed list of everything required of me, from taking his briefcase and placing it on his desk, to how I should arise early to set out some eggs on Sunday and Thursday mornings, to prepare for him to cook with.

Why they had to be set out early on those days, I couldn’t fathom that night.

But the coming morning, a Thursday, I got to see what he did with it at least.

There was no mention of him feeding me, or him touching me upon the list at all, but when he served up his home made waffles for breakfast, it became clear that little event was to happen on repeat.

“Come here,” he said as he sat there with the morning light shining upon him and his dark hair. And by his tone of voice, I could tell… he wanted more than for me to merely come closer. “I bet you’re hungry,” he said, as I looked down on the thick waffles, sprinkled with colourful fruit.

I had to admit, they smelled and looked divine.

I’d spent all night thinking about what I was going to do. Half of me just wanted to tell him to stick his job up his ass.

Then I thought: hey, if I wanted some revenge, knowing these weird little things could only help, right? A weird, sexual scandal could really hurt him, I reasoned with myself.

Funny how elated and relieved I felt when I decided that. Revenge was a dish best served cold, not with a strange tingle between my thighs.