• Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • BDSM
  • /
  • New Boss (for Gareth) Ch. 01

New Boss (for Gareth) Ch. 01

The office, Friday afternoon fading into evening. The sound of the cleaners in the corridor. You stare at your computer screen. The report has to be finished before you leave. It's for Ms Sinclair.

You look across the open-plan part of the office to her own separate glass-walled room. There she is, her pale face lit by the light of her screen. She is tapping away at the keyboard. She was first in this morning and she will be the last to leave tonight, as always.

Leanne Sinclair, new Managing Director of UK Operations. High flyer, troubleshooter, mover and shaker - and ballbreaker. Brought in four months ago when Head Office had finally tired of the more ... well, "relaxed" style of her predecessor, good old Mike. Good old beery-breathed Mike with his cigarette breaks, his three hour lunch hours, phones routed to voicemail on a Friday afternoon, works trips to the dog track, radio constantly tuned to whatever sport was going on. Good old Mike. Good old Mike who tried to put one piss-up too many through expenses and was sent packing.

Ms Sinclair promptly sacked the half dozen poorest performers, instituted rigorous new accountability policies, pushed up profits in her first quarter by 20%, expanded the business with new accounts, generally made a name for herself and scared the crap out of everyone she came into contact with. Not that she ever shouts at anyone. She is far too much in control to raise her voice or indeed show any emotion at all. Always calm, always in control, issuing precise instructions in a quiet but firm voice with a hint of a northern accent. Works harder than anyone, that's for sure. Attends company social functions alone, drinks a couple of glasses of the best wine going, makes polite small talk with the more lowly minions and more intense conversation with her senior staff, then leaves in a taxi before it gets rowdy. No wedding or engagement ring.

Because the thing is, you think to yourself, she's a looker. Mid-thirties as far as you know but could pass for younger. Small, petite. Pale skin and dark blue eyes behind the glasses. Always immaculately dressed - today in a very expensive-looking crimson silk blouse and knee-length black skirt over black tights or stockings. You think probably stockings. Black patent high heels. Simple gold chain round her neck. A diamond ring on her right middle finger. Long, thick dark hair which is the only thing about her that is not under control. However she styles it, a few strands always escape and have to be constantly pushed away from her face.

Oh, and then there are her breasts. Impossible not to notice, and the tailored, fitting blouses she wears do little to conceal them. Large, full, firm breasts almost out of proportion to her small, neat figure.

Every bloke in the office - and maybe some of the women, for all you know - regards her with a mixture of fear and lust, like schoolboys with a sexy but strict teacher. Despite all the after-hours banter and speculation about her, nobody - NOBODY - would for one moment consider trying it on with her. Inconceivable.

A new email shakes you out of the daydream. It's from her. Shit, shit, shit. Half an hour has passed and you have done nothing. You open the mail.

"Gareth - please come to my office. LS"

Oh no, this is it. Time to face the music. You walk over to the office and knock.

"Come in."

You enter and stand in front of her desk. It really is like being at school. Your heart is sinking, your mouth dry.

"Gareth - you know what this is about." It is a statement, not a question. Looking up at you over the thin black rims of her glasses.

"The report, you mean? It's nearly done, it has been more complex than I thought. You will have it first thing Monday morning, I can commit to that."

"Not good enough, Gareth. My own report to the Board is needed for Monday midday, I intend to write it over the weekend. And I can't start that without the data from your report. You see the difficulty." Again, not a question. She continues. "But it's not only the report, is it, Gareth? Your performance since I took over has been barely acceptable. You narrowly missed the first phase of downsizing and I am asking myself whether that was the right decision. This cannot continue."

"Ms Sinclair, things have been difficult at home, I am aware that I have fallen behind but I promise you I am doing all I can ..."

She interrupts: "Not good enough. If you have personal business to attend to then you take annual leave, do what you need to do, and return to work fully focused. Your personal life must not impinge on your work." Then a very slight mellowing of tone. "You're not a bad person, Gareth, but you're weak and poorly focused. It's starting to be a problem. I think that you have potential but I'm not sure how best to realise it and this can't go on much longer."

"Yes Ms Sinclair," for all the world like a 13 year old boy.

"But while I think about how best to deal with you, there's one thing you can help me with."

"Anything you say, Ms Sinclair," you say, glad of an opportunity to please.

"Are your hands clean?" You nod. She stands up and turns her back on you. "My shoulders are tense, it's beginning to affect my work rate," she says. "Please would you massage them, Gareth?"

You are stunned, excited and frightened all at once. This must be the closest anyone in the office has got to Ms Sinclair. Tentatively you place your hands on her shoulders and start to squeeze and knead. You're not sure if this is the right way to do it and pray it's not going to piss her off even more.

"Good, Gareth. A little harder, please." You oblige. You can feel through the silk that her muscles are toned. Her bone structure is small and delicate. You can feel where her bra strap crosses her shoulder. At that thought you have to stop yourself from breathing more heavily. You are so much taller than her that you can look down over her shoulder to where the pale skin of her chest starts to disappear under the crimson silk. Careful, Gareth, you think. You make sure that you do not stand too close behind her, so that in the unthinkable event of you starting to get aroused she will not notice. You look down again. It looks as if her nipples are starting to get hard, showing through the silk. Don't even think about it, Gareth!

"You look at me, don't you, Gareth?"

"Er ... Miss?"

"You and the other men, I see you looking at me."

"No, Miss!"

"Gareth, I'm not stupid. In fact I'm probably the most intelligent person you know. I know you look. What do you see?"

"Well, Miss ... erm ... I see a very successful respected manager. You always seem to have everything under perfect control. And ..." you hesitate, "... and also of course a very attractive woman ..."

Oh shit, was that a mistake?

She turns round. "Sit down, Gareth," she indicates her own executive chair. You sit. "Let me tell you a bit about control."

She leans close over you, her hands on the arms of the chair, her face inches from yours. Somehow - how? - a button on her blouse has come undone and you can have a clear view of her cleavage and of a black lacy bra holding those big pale globes. You can hardly breathe for tension. She speaks quietly but with real feeling.

"When I started out in this business I was 22, straight out of college. I had been a brilliant student, first class honours, commendations, president of the Union, dissertation published in an international journal, the lot. In the USA I would have been called the Girl Most Likely To Succeed. And I joined my first company full of drive and hope and ideas. And I thought they looked at me and saw a talented, ambitious graduate. But what they saw when they looked at me was a pretty little girl with great big tits."

You are shocked, speechless. At the word "tits" you just can't help staring straight down her blouse. Please God let her not notice. She continues.

"So I put up with being patronised and ostracised and talked down to and passed over and leered at and getting my arse groped at the Christmas party because to start with I didn't know what else to do. And over a couple of years it dawned on me. I had to be 10 times as good as any man, and work 10 times as hard, to get the same recognition. So to get more recognition I had to be 20, 30, 100 times better and more hard working. So that's what I did. And I stopped being a scared little girl and blushing at dirty jokes and sitting on the edge of a group of lads in the pub and not minding them staring at my tits. And I took control, became like I am now. And gave nothing away. And from then on it was success all the way - as long as I remained in control. And I like it that way, and it will stay that way because I know that if I take my eye off the ball for one moment, I'll be letting in some lazy old pisshead - or "good bloke" as you no doubt call him - like Mike. I've seen too many Mikes. I'm better then them."

You have no idea what to say. She stands up in front of you.

"You were of course looking down my top while I was speaking just then," she says coolly.

Oh hell, you think.

"No Miss ..."

"Of course you were. Now here's a little test for you Gareth. Can you handle a reality of which you have only ever dreamed? I need people who can deal with real situations, not fantasists." She closes all the blinds on the glass partition walls. The outside world disappears, leaving just you and her and her office.

"Er ... yes Miss, I'll try," you stammer, not having any idea what is happening.

Unbelievably, she is unbuttoning her blouse. She takes it off, fold it neatly and places it on her desk. You are simply dumbstruck. What mad game is this? Are you dreaming? She stands in front of you. She is wearing a black lacy plunge bra. Her breasts jut proudly out, big and firm on her slim, toned torso. Her pale, creamy cleavage is magnificent. Through the lace her nipples are clearly visible. Oh my God, you think, what is happening to me?

"This is reality, Gareth. Undo my bra, please." She turns round. You stop your hands trembling just enough to open the clasp. She slips the straps off her shoulders in a matter-of-fact way as if undressing for a shower, takes the bra off and places it on the desk. She turns to you and stands with shoulders pulled back. Her breasts are exposed in all their glory. Big, full, firm yet heavy. Large protruding pink nipples, the size of thimbles.

You are virtually paralysed with a combination of fear and arousal. Nothing could have prepared you for this.

"See Gareth, you were trapped in your fantasy about me. I'm releasing you into the real world. It's a better place, I think you'll agree."

It makes no sense but you don't care. You are trying to relish the moment without thinking too much about the implications. Is it a set up? Is she going to accuse you of something? Or maybe she's just horny? Hard to think of Ms Sinclair exhibiting as simple a human desire as lust ...

You are still in the chair, she steps towards you. "I know you want to put your hand up my skirt," she says. "Go ahead. It's OK, this isn't a trap." She must have read your mind. Trembling, you reach out one hand and put it on her inner thigh just above the knee. Slowly you work your way up, out of sight under her skirt. Lace stocking top - you were right about that. Lacy suspender - not hold ups then. Smooth bare skin above the stocking top. No panties yet - thong maybe? Up ... up ... then hair, soft folds of warm moist flesh.

No panties at all then. Oh God help you, you are touching Ms Sinclair's pussy.

"Why do you look so shocked, Gareth, what did you expect to find?" she says coolly. "I am a woman, women have cunts, therefore I have a cunt. A woman's cunt gets wet when she is sexually aroused. I am sexually aroused, therefore my cunt is wet. Basic human biology, Gareth."

You cannot move or speak.

"I need more than a shoulder massage to relax me today, Gareth, and I'm going to ask for your help again. But first we need to take care of the disciplinary matter for which I first called you in."

You nod dumbly. How can he be talking about this when she is half naked and your hand is on her pussy?

"Now we could go down the tedious route of involving HR, me issuing a first written warning, review after six weeks and all that stuff. Or you agree to accept a one-off disciplinary measure from me and we consider the matter closed. Do you?"

All you can do is nod.

"Good. In that case I am going to administer a corporal punishment. Please remove your trousers and underpants."

You blurt out: "Corporal punishment?"

"I am going to spank you, Gareth. Take off your trousers and underpants and bend over the desk, hands and elbows on the desk top. Please do not look round or cry out."

Looks like you have no choice. You turn away from her as you drop your trousers and pants, as your cock is distinctly hardening. You bend over and wait.

THWACK! How can such a petite woman be so strong? THWACK! Her small delicate hand hits your buttocks like a bullet. THWACK! You can feel the ring on her finger digging into you. Oh please don't draw blood! THWACK THWACK THWACK! Each one stings then throbs through your arse cheeks. You can feel blood rushing to your buttocks, they feel hot and must be bright red. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Tears in your eyes. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! And your cock is now absolutely rock hard.

"That's enough, I think," she says. "Turn round."

You can't avoid this - you turn round and from beneath your shirt your raging erection points insolently at her. She allows herself the hint of a smile. "Well well, have we finally discovered your area of excellence, Gareth? Credit where it's due. That is a most impressive cock you have there."

"Thank you Miss," you mumble. It sounds absurd but the whole situation is so crazy it doesn't matter.

"And," she continues, "I intend to use it as a sex toy. Lie on your back on the floor, please."

You lie down. She bends down and pulls your shirt up somewhat so your cock and lower abdomen are exposed. Then she stands astride you. She lifts her skirt up to her hips. The black lacy suspenders and stocking tops form a frame around a neatly trimmed triangle of thick black pubic hair. She squats down part way. Holds onto her skirt with one hand, with the other takes hold of your cock. It feels huge in her delicate, slim fingers. She holds it in place and squats further, guiding the tip of your cock to the warm wet entrance of her cunt hole. Then lowers herself all the way down.

Her cunt is very wet but very tight, it stretches to let you in and you fill it completely with your cock. Her pussy lips grind down onto your balls. Still squatting, with exquisite control she slides herself slowly up and down your rigid shaft. You can see yourself entering her. Your shaft glistens with her juices. She seems in a world of her own as she slowly works herself up and down. Her big tits swing gently with the movement. She reaches down and starts to play with her clit with one hand. You are insanely aroused, harder than you would have thought humanly possible. It seems she can control this movement and fuck forever.

She looks you in the eyes. "You're doing well, Gareth," she says, her voice still as calm as ever. "I said you had potential and I was right."

"Yes Miss."

"You want my tits, don't you Gareth?"

There really is no point lying about this now. "Yes Miss, please. I beg you."

"Very well." She shifts position so she is now kneeling rather than squatting, with your cock still in her cunt. She leans foward, her tits fall into your face. You desperately want to suck on them. She knows. "Go on Gareth. Take my tit into your mouth as far as it will go. Feel my nipple on the back of your throat. Suck hard."

You do as she says, filling your mouth with one huge breast, nearly choking, sucking hard. She fucks you steadily. Grinds her clit onto your pubic bone. You go to the other breast, swallow as much of it as you can. She starts to get faster. Her tit slips from your mouth. Now she rides you hard and fast, tits bouncing and swinging in front of your face. "Cum with me, Gareth," she whispers.

You feel her vagina give a massive spasm, then another, then a rapid series of throbs. The skin of her chest becomes flushed. You can't hold back. Your cock erupts inside her cunt. You cum so hard it almost hurts. Jet after jet of spunk shoots into her as she climaxes powerfully again. It feels like the two of you are never going to stop cumming.

You get your breath back. She looks at you. "Good, Gareth, good. Now lick me clean."

She lifts herself off your cock and positions herself over your face. Your own cum drips down onto you, mingled with her cunt juice. You take a deep breath and with long strokes of your tongue you lick it all off her and swallow. You guess that's what she wants.

When you have taken it all, she stands up. "Get dressed, Gareth," she says. You obey. She herself puts her bra and blouse back on.

"Miss, I promise I'll never tell anyone ..." you blurt.

"It wouldn't matter if you did, Gareth. Nobody would believe you."

She is right, of course. She sits down at her computer. "Thank you Gareth, that will be all. I have taken up some of your time so I will extend the deadline for the report till Monday 11 AM. I suggest you go home now."

In a daze, your balls aching from the violence of your orgasm, you walk back to your desk. You pick up your jacket and go to switch off your computer. A new e-mail has just come in. From her.

"Gareth - I will require your assistance at the Europe-wide strategy meeting in Amsterdam next Wednesday. My PA will book a flight and room for you. LS"

  • Index
  • /
  • Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • BDSM
  • /
  • New Boss (for Gareth) Ch. 01

All contents © Copyright 1996-2023. Literotica is a registered trademark.

Desktop versionT.O.S.PrivacyReport a ProblemSupport

Version ⁨1.0.2+795cd7d.adb84bd⁩

We are testing a new version of this page. It was made in 63 milliseconds