Bewitching the Boss

“Jesus Christ,” I say raggedly, gritting my teeth to keep from fountaining come into my pants. “Tell me how to satisfy you. Show me. Please.”

Knowing how to make this woman orgasm is suddenly the most important knowledge I’ll ever possess. Forget coding. Forget my endless hunt for new formulas. My only mission is her pleasure now and it’s urgent. I need to know how to fuck her right. Immediately.

“Don’t you know?” she whispers, straddling me. Sitting on my thighs while she unbuttons my pants and slowly, slowly tugs down my zipper. With her mouth against mine, she breathes in. And out. “You satisfy me constantly.”

I’m confused by that statement but it swells my cock, nonetheless. Makes my head spin. “How? I don’t understand.”

She takes out my erection with a whimpering sound, stroking it like a priceless work of art, rubbing it against the smooth crotch of her thong. Shuddering. Gasping. “Sometimes all I have to do is think of you…” She licks the seam of my mouth. “And rub my clit a little through my panties…and it’s all over. I just have to think of you, Byron.”

Her lips move to my neck, sucking and biting, her hips settling down, down so tight to my lap that I moan at the friction of her warm pussy. And then she tweaks her lower body, up and back, riding my dick with nothing but a thin piece of material separating us and splotches of light bloom in front of my eyes. “Ohhhh fuck. Oh fuck.” With a ragged curse, my hands find the bare cheeks of her ass, involuntarily urging her on. “Please let me in.”

Her eyes fly to mine, searching. “You…changed your m-mind. About pleasure?”

“I need to make you mine, Jane.” I bite her jaw, snapping at her mouth next. Hungry. So hungry. Starved. “I won’t breathe right until you are.”

The expression on her face engraves itself on my memory. The wonder and relief and necessity. She needs something hard to ride and it’s going to be me. The longer it takes me to get inside of her pussy, the more feral I become. And she watches me, loving it. Loving the change in me. The beastliness and aggression. “My Byron,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss me, her tongue moving with mine hypnotically, her right hand guiding my cock between her legs. Using my rigidity to push aside her thong, poising me at her damp entrance.

This is it. This is when she becomes mine.

Thank God.

But I’m not prepared for the incredible sensation of Jane’s cunt sinking down onto my shaft. I’m not ready for the criminally tight fit or the hot, pulsating walls to milk me, milk, milk, milk and ripple, bringing a close-mouthed bellow up from my chest. And that’s before she starts to scoot her hips up and back in my lap, dragging my dick in and out of her dripping wet heat, searing me alive.

“Oh Christ,” I pant, digging my fingers into her buns. “Stop. Stop or I’ll come.”

“I want you to come, baby,” she whispers, licking into my mouth, her body mounting mine more securely, so there isn’t a breath of daylight between us, her hips pumping like naughty little pistons, turning my balls rock hard. Ready to blow. “You didn’t need to make me yours. I’ve been yours for a long time.”

Something about what she’s saying doesn’t make sense, but my body and soul love hearing those words. Deeply. So fucking deeply. Mine. This girl is mine and she’s riding me like her life depends on it, her head falling back to send that dark hair coasting down her back. She whines and sobs and bucks me in and out of her slick little pussy. And all I can do is bite my lip until I taste blood, trying not to ejaculate too soon. Please, please, don’t come yet. It’s too good, the hot squelch of my shaft filling her sex, the way her tits drag up and down my chest. I’ll never be able to live without this, without her, after this. Never.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. What did you do to me?”

“Nothing,” she says with mock innocence. “I just want to worship you day and night,” she pouts the words against my lips. “I want to be your bad little girl. I want you to use me and be rough with me and bruise me. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”

That clinging smoke of lust fills my insides, the dark kind, the kind I can’t seem to keep at bay when she asks me for it. Silently or out loud, as she did just now. But her plea burns inside of me, rouses a part of me that never existed until Jane—and before I know my own intentions, I’m standing, striding across the patio and slamming her against the wall.