Exit Interview
by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2016
This work is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/][Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License].
"All of my project files, Mister Milgram, as you asked."
Fred looked up as Sarai came into his office. The dark red fabric of her dress slid easily and suggestively along the contours of her body as she shifted to manage the large collection of file folders in her arms. Fred watched, appreciatively, while the Indian woman leaned over his desk to set the materials into three neat stacks.
Sarai stood with a look of baffled curiosity, as Fred hadn't given any reason for his request. He glanced at the stacks of files and sighed; going through them would kill most of the day. Then he returned his gaze to Sarai.
What the hell, Fred thought. He had time. More accurately, Sarai would have the time for whatever Fred had in mind.
"Lock the door, please," he requested.
You could never be sure, watching Sarai move, whether there was anything restraining her breasts. The top of her dress clung, but not close enough to be explicit. If she hurried, of course, then you could look for bouncing - but Sarai never hurried. And the view from the rear was profound; even if you weren't an ass man, there was enough sway in the hips to raise a primal hunger. Fred's cock certainly never failed to respond to the sight.
With the door secured, Sarai returned to Fred's desk. He leaned forward and smiled, uttering three meaningless words. "ARMATURE -- SEPIA -- MONTRACHET." The woman's eyes widened briefly, then her entire posture slumped. She put out her hands to hold the edge of his desk, breathing slowly and deeply, and her mouth fell open. Fred continued, "Remove your dress, please."
Sarai shook her head, glossy black hair swirling at her shoulders, and stood up to reach back for the zipper. The metallic rasp was jarring in the otherwise quiet room. She slid the soft fabric down as if undressing was the most normal thing to do in an architect's office.
Fred licked his lips. The contrast between her demure attitude and the presentation of her exotic body never failed to arouse him. Sarai stood swaying slightly from one high heel to the other, in a black lacy bra and panty combination that emphasized the olive-tan shade of her skin. Her breasts were C-cups, more than ample on her frame.
She stood quietly now, eyes vague, goosebumps on her arms from the air conditioning. Fred got up from his chair and walked around Sarai, sliding one thumb across the smooth silk of her panties until she let out a soft sound and lifted on her toes. He took the project folders and moved them to the coffee table, then cleared everything else off the top of his desk and patted the solid teak. "Come here, Sarai, panties off, sit on the desk. Busy fingers."
Sarai scissored her body, pushing her panties to the floor, then oozed in her heels and swiveled to settle on the edge of his desk with her legs well parted. Fred watched with a growing erection as she teased herself. Her head rolled and her eyes lidded as she stroked between those silky folds and over her exposed clit.
"Pretty girl," he murmured to her. Her fingers moved that much faster between her thighs, the sounds of wet flesh echoing in his office, an aromatic puddle spreading on his desk. "Pretty girl," and she redoubled her efforts, the muscles along her jaw standing out as she strained, arching backward, unable to let a sound pass her throat. He'd once kept her on the edge for twenty minutes, but then had been challenged to give her a reason why her vulva was swollen and sore. "Pretty pretty girl," he whispered, and her body locked, fingers plunged deep inside her sex, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. He got up and moved to lay Sarai on her back before she fell, and pushed her knees up so her heels were against her asscheeks.
Fred's face fell hungrily into Sarai, lapping up her drenched thighs and driving his tongue into her core, hands curled behind her twitching rear to hold her in place. If watching Sarai cum was an erotic treat, feeling and hearing her whine as he twisted and rubbed her still-rippling walls was overload city. Her pubic bone ground painfully against the bridge of Fred's nose, and he pulled back panting wild-eyed, staring at the slobbery wet arch of her open thighs and the runoff glistening between her asscheeks.
That, for Fred, was Sarai's other great feature - an ass like a whore's throat. She was still writhing in orgasm as he shoved his slacks and boxers down to fuck her there, and the rippling of those muscles made it a short effort before he emptied himself to the bottom of his balls. He leaned against the backs of her legs, catching his breath as her body continued to try and milk him, sweating in the cool office. Yes, he was definitely getting too old for this.
*****
Fred had been incredibly lucky to find Sarai. She had worked in Fred's group for a year and a half, a puzzling combination of demure attitude and foreign erotic aura. Any number of the junior staff - of both sexes - had tried to pry open that puzzle box with no success.
Fred had found the key by accident.
He and Sarai were working late one evening, sorting through the mess left by his previous assistant. When Fred saw Sarai’s eyes and shoulders sag from weariness, he offered to rub her shoulders. The induction he used was a spur of the moment impulse, and with Sarai's energy lowered she slid easily into his comforting voice.
Separated from her conscious mind, Sarai's body had become actively responsive and open, almost a drug for Fred. She seemed to be a natural; her responses to his post-trance suggestions were incredibly well integrated.
Now, after so much repetition, the phrase "pretty girl" itself gave Fred an erection.
*****
Fred wiped himself down, pulled his pants back up, and put a well-fitted plug into Sarai's rear. Then he swung her legs down and raised her to a sitting position, patting her face with a tissue then massaging her temples. Looking down at her chest, he could see the protrusion of her nipples through the thin bra.
His groin pulsed. Damn, he wanted to be between her breasts. He shook his head and focused.
"Relax, Sarai, floating in peace, deep and comfortable. The warmth loves you, Sarai, the wet wonderful warmth inside. You feel good, you feel special. You made an important decision today, Sarai. You found a new place to work, with a company that gives more opportunities to women. You came to my office to give me your thirty days’ notice." He watched and waited as his words sunk in, her jaw twitching as she processed the information. "Thirty days..." she finally responded.
He continued the transference. "You're going to work at Uptown Realty for Georgette Pinkerton (a very girly name for such a butch bitch, he mused). You'll recognize her - she's barely five foot two and has the most striking red hair. But you'll know for sure it's her when she takes your hands and whispers into your ears. She'll tell you this: "pretty girl is mine now".
Sarai's body bucked and twisted on the edge of the desk. Her nipples pushed through her bra as if begging for attention.
"And when she says that, Sarai, two things will happen. You will have the most intense quiet orgasm you can remember, almost enough to make you collapse into her arms, and you'll know that she and only she holds the keys to your soul. You'll forget me then, except as a name, as a boring ex-boss."
*****
For all his legitimate concern about Sarai, there was nothing of generosity in Fred’s decision. He had lost her in a poker game. Actually, he had lost ten thousand dollars to that bitch Georgette, his ex-wife’s lover, and had offered Sarai in trade.
Sarai would never have thought to leave him, to look for another job on her own initiative. At least, not after her initiative dissolved into Fred's desires.
*****
Sarai's body quivered despite the hold-still trance. Fred wondered what her new owner would do with that gorgeous ass - probably ruin it with a strapon. The idea gave him a vague sense of disquiet, but the matter was out of his hands now. A double handful of tissues sufficed to clean up the mess between her thighs. The plug in her ass would remain, confirmation of his deal when Georgette looked for it.
He kissed her then, one lingering seal of his lips on her forehead, and told her to get dressed. Sarai's eyes were still hooded and vacant, but her body moved with a primal female rhythm that made Fred's breath catch in his throat. The next three words might have been the most difficult ever to pass Fred's lips:
"MONTRACHET -- SEPIA -- ARMATURE."
/ END /