A Job Is A Job
A young woman turns a summer appointment into a full-time job after several demonstrations of her lusty abilities. A secretary sex story.
High school was over and college was two months down the road. I needed a job. What I really needed was money. Anyhow, I took the first clerical job that came along, a menial, $250 a week, minimum wage job at a big brokerage house in the city. I rode the subway to work and did what I was asked almost without thought until one day a couple of guys from accounting asked me out to lunch.
I was reasonably well dressed for a change, new blouse, and a tight skirt, and they were pretty cute so I went, and we chatted and flirted and ate small steaks and drank red wine and took an hour. They told some dirty jokes and did some thigh patting, but nothing serious. And they paid for my lunch.
So the next Friday, I wore my new summer dress, the one with no back that bares my boobs if I don’t stand up straight, and they asked me out again. I guess I ought to say something about my boobs because they are reasonably spectacular if you are interested in that sort of thing.
I mean some girls get augmentation, but I considered breast reduction when I was in 9th grade. I grew into them, I guess, and now they are just fine, jutting, firm, upturned 36C’s that feel good and look better. They are about the size and shape of regulation softballs, a real handful, and my nipples are big and bulgy, super sensitive, like the size of the ends of my thumbs. All the kidding is past; now I get admiration and jealousy, a great rack as they say. It’s a shame to stick them in a bra but I usually do, but not this day and not in this dress.
Getting to know the guys…
Anyhow, instead of going to the steak house, we went to a nearby hotel dining room and had crab imperial and then went up to a room I assumed they had rented and spent the next hour or so getting to know each other a lot better in a number of exciting ways, all three of us naked and smoking good weed between couplings. They were both randy young men with reasonable and durable endowments who fucked much too fast but really enjoyed getting their limp cocks sucked.
I faked a couple of orgasms for them and after I got them both hard again, they double-teamed me in two or three different positions on the big, double bed, a first for me, ass and cunt at the same time; I had done pussy and mouth a time or two in high school. Then we took a quick shower together and went back to work – a two-hour lunch this time. I was glad I had kept my hair cut short.
An hour or so later I was sitting in my little cubicle doing some tedious data entry, my wonderfully abused pussy still pulsing when my supervisor came in and said the boss wanted to see me. I had never met him and I was scared for some reason, mostly the two-hour lunch and coming back to work looking, I was sure, freshly fucked with bite marks here and there. As I said, I really needed the money for textbooks and stuff. I had a state scholarship that guaranteed four years of tuition.
So I went down this long corridor, feeling like I had been summoned to the principal’s office, crossed this thick carpet, and told his pretty blonde secretary who I was and she announced me and nodded toward a door. The boss was on the phone and waved me to a chair. His carpet was even deeper. I sat and waited, knees together, back straight, thinking about what we had done at lunchtime until my pudenda squirmed and my clit trembled. For some reason, I thought of my first time down at the beach with cousin Bill when I was younger. I could still see his still little prick. It made my mouth water.
I had been reasonably sexually active for the last couple of years, mainly what is called hook-ups, just one-night-stands or one-day-gropings, nothing serious or even semi-permanent; just fuck ’em and forget ’em.
I’d started sucking cocks a few years before and let two boys fuck me at a private swimming pool, an event that became well known quickly and changed my reputation greatly, went on the pill at fifteen, and was not seeing anyone regularly that summer. In fact, until that day, I had not enjoyed sex with a man for more than a month, and when I thought about it, I was pretty sore in both holes. But, I had to admit, ready for more.
The boss put down his phone and smiled at me. “I need a P.A., a new personal assistant,” he said, “and I’ve been told you can do the job, at least some of it.” He’s a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a good-sized paunch.
I blinked at him.
“My girl is leaving to get married, finishes up today, and I know you are here for just the summer, but, well, you are a nice-looking young woman, you dress well and you could fill in until we find a full-time employee.”
He smiled, a pleasant smile, not at all wolfish.
I nodded and wondered how he knew what I could do.
“It pays twice what you are making, perhaps a bit more, and there is a nice clothing allowance, five hundred a month, but you will have to do some overtime, working in the evenings and weekends, going on business trips;
that sort of thing.”
“Six hundred a week?” I said my voice breaking.
“Seven-fifty actually, and if you do well, I’ll promise you a bonus at the end of August, say an extra thousand.” He licked his lips and said, “Stand up, please.”
I stood and took a deep breath, tossing back my hair and doing some calculating. The dress I was wearing was new, short, and barebacked, and it showed a lot of deep cleavages.
He smiled and said, “Disrobe.”
I blinked at him.
“Take off your clothes, honey. You may put them on the chair.”
“You want me to?” I began.
“Yes. Let’s not dawdle. Time really is money you know. You did well on the first part of the job interview when you went to lunch with those two studs from accounting. Their reports were very positive. Very.” He smiled and licked his lips. “Now undress and let me see you. How old are you, eighteen?”
“Eighteen,” I said as I undid my belt, opened my short, silky dress and tossed it on the chair, wiggled my half slip and tiny panties down, stepped free and placed them on top of my dress, and stood there in front of the man wearing just my dark, thigh-high stockings and my white heels, my big nipples fully erect, jutting out like crazy, all excited about something. I could feel my inner lips quivering.
“Turn around,” he said.
I did slowly, one foot in front of the other, my pussy trembling, wet and warm, my jugs jiggling nicely. I’m sure I was blushing and felt the hair on my arms rise. It is not fun to be on display.
“Very nice,” he said. “You have wonderful legs.”
I am almost six feet tall and have a 39-inch inseam. I measure 37 at the hips, 25 at the waist, and 39 across my tits when I take a deep breath. I weigh about 130 most days and usually say 125 if anybody asks. My pubic thatch is shaved down to a very small tuft, and my naturally curly hair is auburn and quite long right now, untamed and unruly, a mop of wild curls. Compared to me, Bernadette Peter’s hair is tame.
“Thank you,” I said, tensing a thigh muscle and hoping my pussy would not weep. It was still puffy from the lunchtime romp and I knew he could see the hickies on my boobs.
“The boys told me about your performance, your skills, over at the hotel, but I would like a small sample, and then I want you to go buy some clothes; there is a reception tonight for some important clients.”
I blinked at him as he swiveled his chair, pulled down his zipper, and flopped out his enormous penis. It looked like a slab of veal, a couple of pounds maybe, like a rack of ribs. He smiled at me and licked his lips, and I was down on my knees with his fat glans in my mouth faster than I can type this.
I held his dangling balls in one hand and his wide shaft with the other and gave him a first-class sample of my cocksucking abilities, honed over four years on adolescent males’ puny members, all done for free when this one meant money, serious money.
His, like the two I did at lunch, was man-sized meat, and I treated it with the respect it deserved even if I almost choked on it a couple of times. After I had swallowed his salty cum, a single but generous spurt, and licked him clean, I got to my feet, and he patted my ass and then leaned forward to kiss my bulging pussy, his fingers exploring my anus while I tried not to wiggle.
“Get dressed,” he said, pushing a white envelope across the table, “and go buy yourself a little black dress and some sexy underclothes, black I think; yes, black. Get a belt so you will not have to wear pantyhose.
Please do not ever wear pantyhose when you work for me.” He smiled and licked his lips. “Yes, your legs are terrific, really great.”
By then I was dressed, tied my belt, made sure my boobs were tucked away, and smiled back at him. “Shall I show you my purchases?”
“Yes, of course. Let’s say five, and we will go to dinner and meet these men from Japan, three of them. I’m sure you can handle three Japs, right?”
“No sweat,” I said with a grin, feeling very confident, my groin in turmoil and the taste of his spew in my mouth.
The envelope held ten fifties, and I went out and spent half of it on a short, silky Donna Karen that could be worn strapless or with spaghetti straps, it hit about mid-thigh and clung when I moved. Then I went to Vickie’s and got some high-cut black panties and a black, lacy, panty-garter belt, a thing I’d never owned, two black push-up bras to match, a really sexy underwired half bra, and a dozen pairs of long, sheer stockings.
With what I had left I bought an eyelet mini-dress, a backless sweater dress, and a red, polka-dot corset dress, a real show-stopper that it would take nerve to wear with my body, the top barely covered my areoles and pushed them out like a pair of melons. All three dresses cost less than a hundred and fifty bucks altogether since they were having a sale.
I got back to work with my purchases, put on my new underclothes and stockings, and found I had forgotten to get some heels to match. It was still only four o’clock so I hurried out and bought some four-inch black,
ankle-strap, fuck-me shoes. I tried on some five-inch heels, but they were too extreme for me. By five on the dot, I was in his office, teetering on my new stilettos and well aware that my strapless dress bared a lot of chest. I had been tempted to get one with a zipper in the front.
“Lift your skirt,” he said and then smiled. “Yes, very nice indeed. I’m looking forward to your internship, and if you do well, I can promise the same kind of deal every summer when my new P.A. goes on vacation, whoever she may be.”
We took the elevator down with his big hand on my bottom, walked to the hotel bumping shoulders, rubbing arm on boob and found the three Japanese businessmen already at their table and, from the look of them, already drunk. We sat and I was introduced. The oldest of the three staggered to his feet, pulled back my chair, took my elbow and we headed for the glass elevator and went up to the top floor and a big suite where he seemed to quickly sober up and proceeded to rip my new dress right off my body and the tear-off my underclothes and toss them aside before jumping on me and trying to get his puny cock into my tight slit. I calmed him down and helped him, and he satisfied himself quickly, rolled over, and started snoring after spurting on my belly.
My panty-garter belt was ruined so I found some band-aids in the bathroom and glued my stockings to my thighs, folded my new strapless bra into my handbag since two of the snaps were gone, got back into my ripped dress, deployed the skinny straps, and went back down to the table where I ate some lobster and then escorted another smiling salaryman, who reeked of scotch, up to the suite and into another bedroom.
We could hear the first man snoring as we helped each other disrobe and then the pot-bellied man sat on the side of the bed, dug his hands into my hair, and demanded a blowjob which I delivered at once, with both hands in the small of my back, just as he directed, my bare boobs on his hairy thighs, his partner’s sperm now oozing out of me.
When he came, he flopped back on the bed. For a minute I thought he was dead, but then he started snoring, his limp cock now leaking on the carpet. I dressed quickly, checked my taped garters, and went back to the dining room where the third man was now so drunk he could not stand. The boss and I helped him up to his room and put him to bed. Then we went down to the room the guys from accounting had used.
The boss helped me out of my ruined new dress and sucked first one tit and then the other until both were hard and distended. I helped him out of his clothes and into bed, peeled off my stockings, and joined him. “You like being on top?” he asked as he patted my butt and I licked his curved prong.
“You’re the boss,” I said with a laugh.
He lay back and held up his fat prick, and I mounted him and rogered him long and hard, both of us moaning and grunting and enjoying ourselves while he tried to unscrew my jutting nipples. At one point I was riding cowgirl and whipping his thighs with my stockings. He loved that. By the time he came, I was dripping sweat down on him. He didn’t bring me off, few men do,
but he came twice in me, and I purred with contentment at his side until he said he had to get home.
He said I could stay there if I wanted, kissed my belly, gave me a couple of hundred for another dress since a seam had pulled, and the zipper broken on my new black gown. I accepted the room card, saw him to the door, and kissed his cheek. He patted my bare bottom and said I had done a good job. He just loved handling my ass for some reason. I have to admit it is firm and round.
The next morning wearing my new shoes and my ruined dress, I went back to work, got the security guy to let me in, changed into my Friday work clothes, and then headed for the Donna Karen boutique where I showed them the damage, said I had worn the dress once and asked for a replacement or repairs. Repairs were promised and I headed back to Victoria’s Secret and found another little black dress for a lot less and bought two new, strapless push-up bras that produced some serious cleavage plus another black garter belt-panty.
When I got home, there was a message from one of the accountants asking if I wanted to go to the beach with him. I hit his number and he answered right away, said he was halfway out the door and would pick me up in ten minutes after I told him where I lived.
I quickly packed a soft bag, stuffed in two bikinis and my high-cut one-piece, red of course, plus one of the sexy dresses from Vickie’s, the eyelet one that barely covered my ass, pulled on some new panties, white shorts, and a peasant blouse that barely clung at my shoulders, and went down to wait, jugs jiggling. He was driving a Pontiac roadster with the top back and after I belted myself in, he leaned over and kissed my mouth, stroked my breast and asked, “How did it go last night?”
“They drank themselves silly, the jerks,” I said. “Piece of cake.”
It was hard to talk in the open car, but the traffic was light, the cops were not about and we got to the beach it a little over two hours, with that little Solstice cruising at 80 most of the way. We hurried up to the rented condo and found the other accountant very busy on one of the big beds with a young blonde. She was riding him, her golden ponytail bouncing up and down, and he was mauling her little tits while she bounced on his belly. He waved to us, and we changed our clothes and hurried out to the beach, got a big umbrella, spread a couple of towels, and sat and looked at the crashing waves.
“Can you swim in that thing?” he asked, pulling out the back of my tiny top which stretched it hard across my tits. It was the white one with yellow polka dots.
“Sure,” I said, “it usually stays on.”
“You know the boss really likes you.?”
“He’s a nice guy,” I said as he stroked my thigh, all the way up my thigh. “Let’s go get wet.” I already was.
“Wonder where Rob found the blonde,” he said as we went into the water, hand in hand, and pretty soon were diving into waves and having a good time. I checked regularly to make sure my top stayed in place. After a while, we trotted back to the umbrella, and I worked on drying my hair while he lay on his stomach, watching young girls passing by. He had fun putting on some more sunblock, making sure my boobs got plenty. Since I’m a natural redhead, I have to be extra careful. Then he went back to the girl watching.
“Sorry, you brought me?” I asked after he whistled at a couple of youngsters, guaranteed jailbait, in bathing suits smaller than anything I would wear.
“Not a bit. The woman you’re replacing was a hophead slut, and he was going to fire her soon if she didn’t quit. She fucked all the clients for him, but she was used and abused. You’re a first-class lay, honey, a keeper.”
I knew my mop of red hair looked awful, just thick strings when it was wet, so I moved into the sun, got Jerry to slather some more stuff on my back, and my hair dried with a lot of finger raking. By the time it did, the other accountant, Rob, had joined us and we ragged him about the little girl we had found him with.
“Local talent,” he said. “Will do absolutely anything for twenty bucks. Wish I had a dog.”
“Hope you used a condom,” I said.
He looked around, slipped his hand down inside my bikini bottom, and tickled my slit. My eager lips parted and his middle finger hooked up inside me. I pulled a towel over my lap and leaned back against him. “You’re close,” I said, “just a little higher.”
“I’m almost ready for lunch,” I said as the probing finger was almost there.
After two days on the shore and I-don’t-know how many double teams and single couplings, many of them pretty frantic, I got to work on Monday with some sunburn and a sore pussy. There was a note on my computer, and I went to see the boss.
“Um,” he said, “you sure look good.” I was wearing my backless dress from Vickie’s, the silky one with the built-in bra, sandals, and not much else.
I smiled and sat.
“The girl I was going to hire took another job, better pay I suppose. I have to admit she was a pro, only twenty-nine but with ten years on her back.” He grinned at me. “Anyhow, I’d like you to be my PA, full time.
You could do this for a couple of years and make enough to take care of college and graduate school.”
“I’ve got a scholarship,’ I said, blinking at him.
“Hm,” he said, “well, I’ll pay you ten a month plus the five hundred for clothes and promise you a good bonus if the company does OK, meets its projections.”
“Ten thousand a month?” I asked, blinking at him.
He nodded and smiled. “Of course, you’ll have to put up with me, travel with me, that sort of thing, bounce on a lot of pricks.”
I stood; crossed to him, plopped myself down on his lap, kissed him open-mouthed, and said, “When do I start?”
His hand slid up my leg. “Right now,” he said. “Right now.”
A JOB IS A JOB is a secretary sex story presented by eroticprose.com. The home of sexy stories and Literotica.