Mr. Cartwright's Naughty Secretary

Sixty quid's a lot of money to me, especially in hard times such as these - so when I see it lying on the floor underneath Mr Cartwright's overcoat, the temptation simply overwhelms me. Quick as a flash, I bend down to pick it up...

"Miss Quigley!" I've not even managed to scoop up my prize before he catches me, stealing from him red-handed, just like he's so often suspected! Because I'm bent over as he speaks, I can see him in the doorway, upside-down through my legs - framed neatly by the hem of my grey pencil skirt.

"I wasn't going to..." My excuse trails off, as we both know I've no good reason to be in the men's executive wash room. Because of my past conduct, I'm banned from entering upon pain of instant dismissal. So I'm not in a happy situation here...

"This time it's the police!" he intones, and I start shaking in my stilettos. Surely he wouldn't? He must remember I've got an elderly mother to support - who'll look after her if I go to jail?!

"Unless of course," he continues, "you can think of anything..?"

I notice he's touching his crotch - and there's quite a bulge underneath. So I hitch my skirt onto my thighs, get down on my knees and crawl over to him, hoping my hold-up stockings don't rip too readily.

There's always been an unspoken chemistry between old Cartwright and me - that's how come I'm still employed, even though I'm a crappy PA. My shorthand's slow and illegible, I'm poor with computers and everyone says I have a lousy telephone manner - but he insists on retaining my services.

Since I got the job, any cash that's been left lying around has predictably disappeared, and though I always deny it and blame the cleaners, he knows who's responsible. But what can I say - I'm a kleptomaniac! Well, now I guess it's time to pay my dues...

I know he's eager to sample me, so I'm hardly surprised to find that, once I finish crawling over to him, his trousers are already down round his ankles. He's playing it cool, like the cat who found the cream, while his bulging cock is simply hanging out, waiting for my attention...

It's obvious he wants me to wrap my lips straight around his cherry end - but I can play it cool, too! Instead of doing what he expects, I pull his underpants down a little further, so I can get my lips around his ball sac. I gently tongue him there, letting him get a bit hot under the collar before I start working my way slowly up his vertical column.

And boy, is it vertical! For a man in his 60s, Mr Cartwright is in surprisingly good working order. No wonder Linda, his wife, has such a cheerful smile on her face most of the time! As I lap my way steadfastly towards the summit of his manly meat-rod, my admiration grows almost as tall as his cock...

Which truthfully, is just slightly over six inches! He's massaging my head now; stretching my hair extensions slightly more than I'm happy with, and meantime I'm getting salty drops of pre-cum dripping steadily down my face.

"Don't you dare hesitate now, Miss Quigley - it's still not too late for me to call the police!"

I suppose he thinks he's helping, forcing his prick down my throat like this - but he's not! For sure, I was going to swallow him anyway, and he'd have enjoyed it just as much, and possibly more, if he'd waited a second or two for me to get there of my own accord...

But anyway, we are where we are - so now I blow and suck, blow and suck... and sluice a little, just for effect. He's loving it - I can tell from his groans, as well as the way he's holding my head so forcefully.

Actually, he's pulling quite hard on my hair extensions, and it's rather sore, but I can't complain - he's forced his manhood so far down the back of my throat, I'm fighting for breath. Through the nose, Carrie! Don't panic - just try to breathe nice and slowly through your nose...

"Learn your place, you thieving slut! You worthless, dirty robbing whore-bitch!"

That's a bit strong, especially the way he's spitting it out - I actually felt spittle landing in my hair just then! I guess he's got some pretty strong issues stored up? Well, I'm in no position to comment - at least, not while my mouth's this full!

"Dirty, thieving slag!" Okay old man, I get where you're coming from - just don't have a heart attack! I mean, if you keel over right now, what the hell am I going to tell Linda?

"Fucking slutty whore!" Finally, it's coming out. I can feel a steady stream of warm, creamy cum pumping straight down the back of my throat. And though he's in so deep I'm unable to suck or blow, I'm still able to massage his fast, furious spunking organ with my cheeks.

I cannot taste his first, heavy spurts - they shoot straight down my gullet, leaving only a brief, warm glow on their way. But then he contracts slightly, giving me a chance to trap his cherry against the back of my tongue...

I blow, suck and swallow - and I'm pleased to notice how his grip upon my hair is finally softening! At long last he's relaxing, as the tensions drain steadily away. And hopefully, his pent-up feelings towards me will drain away with them!

Soon after he withdraws his rapidly deflating manhood, Mr Cartwright seems almost embarrassed to see me kneeling on the floor. I decide to take advantage of this brief period of calm, by getting to my feet and rearranging my stockings, as well as dusting down my skirt.

I suggest he might fancy a coffee and, when he silently agrees, I'm hugely relieved. You see, I need a little break from him just now, not least because I've an urgent compulsion to wash my mouth out!

Reaching the ladies' room, I throw my head back and gurgle water like it's going out of fashion. Only when its cold, soothing trickles finally seem to have cleared the last of his sperm away do I even think about looking in the mirror...

But when I do, I'm confronted with a dreadful mess! Most of my lipstick ended up spread down the sides of old Cartwright's meat-rod, with my mascara staining his groin. And meanwhile, his pubes have been catching against my powdered cheeks, drawing cartoon tumbleweeds in bas-relief.

Before I can fetch any coffees, I'm going to need to spend a good five minutes working on my face...

Returning with Mr Cartwright's small latte, it's disturbing to find his earlier aggressive airs have followed him out of the men's executive wash room and into his office...

"Close the door!" he demands, and no sooner have I complied with his wishes than he adds: "And take your skirt off!"

I'm really panicking now - has he truly thought this through? We're directly opposite another office block, and sure it's a public holiday, but who's to say we're the only ones who are working today? What about cleaners and maintenance folk - why, just about anyone might be able to take a sneaky peep and see what we're up to!

"Look..." I try to argue, gesturing through the wide, panoramic window - but he cuts me short by clearing his desk in one sweeping, masterful stroke. Well, that's sure put me in my place! I can only shrug as I start unbuttoning my pencil skirt...

Leaning forward onto his desk with my legs spread as far apart as they'll uncomfortably go, I try one last appeal to old Cartwright's conservative sensibilities. "People could be watching," I assert, peeling my silver panties down just below my butt cheeks.

"What do you care?" he replies, stretching an exploratory finger down under my legs. "I'm the one with a reputation to lose here - everyone knows exactly what you are!"

As he begins groping around my ball sac, I'm forced to concede he's right. Out of this very window, I can still see my old high school where, caught wearing tights underneath my trousers, I was forced into a skirt and paraded home by a baying mob.

And across the horizon, the sun still shines on what's left of the derelict house I'd escape into to swap clothes with some of my girlfriends - until one of them betrayed me to a gang of thugs, who held my legs apart and repeatedly flung me, groin first, into a metal banister post.

Which is why, try as he may, Mr Cartwright is unable to get the response he wants from his fingers - no matter how persistently he gropes my crotch! "It's not you," I explain apologetically, "the posting left me... Oh here, just pass me an elastic band!"

Grumpily, he opens the drawer where he keeps sundry items, and hands me a large rubber band. I turn it into a double-sided lasso, then fix it close to the stem of my wonky willy, whilst giving the loop a generous tug.

I hate doing this, because within a minute or so, my whole gonadal area goes numb, and I'm scared I could get gangrene or something! But unfortunately, old Cartwright's not the only punter who insists on it - I guess some men just need something to hang onto while they get off?

Sprawled across his office desk, I'm literally quaking in my black stiletto court shoes when I feel Mr Cartwright's impressively resurrected pussy probe penetrate my butt cheeks. His entry stroke is sublime, and causes me to cry out sharply as my legs flail around him.

Pulling me back and forth as he thrusts his full depth inside me, he keeps my body moving rhythmically in step with his deep, moody gasps. I always seem to be going the wrong way with this guy - like he's forcing me away just as he's coming into me, doubling the ferocity of the shafting I receive.

"You like this Carrie don't you - you cheap, filthy little whore?!"

Christ almighty - what did I ever do to him! I mean, really? A psychology student could have wet dreams, listening in on this!

"Take a memo, Miss Quigley - you're a cheap, filthy hooker!"

He's really pumping away now, working my poor butt until its lips are raw. And he's got stamina, so much get-up-and-go. It was a bad mistake, blowing him off like that and then agreeing to take an anal pounding. This is too much!

With my top half prostrate upon the surface of his laminated desk, my chiffon blouse has no holding power whatsoever - which means he can swirl me around however he likes. And that's exactly what's happening - I'm being tossed around like a rag doll, flung here and there as he pumps my bum steadily towards oblivion.

My legs are flailing helplessly, with my stockings laddering against his trousers as he continues to plough me like a lustful rabbit. And he keeps pulling me back, then leaning into me so my whole body's weight falls onto the very last ounce of his relentlessly savage penis.

The vibrations from his constant heaving have already caused one of my shoes to fall off and now, as my legs cavort pointlessly in the air, I notice I'm bashing my head repeatedly into the desk, and start worrying I might be on the verge of fainting...

So I'm relieved, not to say grateful, when he suddenly starts groaning...

"You're dirt, Miss Quigley - nothing but filth in women's clothes!"

In other circumstances, I might object - but I'm palpably relieved to feel hot cum splashing into my anus with force and vigour.

"Yes!" I reply, believing the end of my ordeal is finally in sight. "Yes, I'm filth - so give it to me! Fill me up, darling - give me everything I deserve!"

I find the ground with my feet and, keeping my legs wide apart, swing my body so that old Cartwright gets every last drop of semen up there, right in the centre of my cute little butt. As the pounding stops, I can hear him breathing very deeply; sounding laboured, tired and strangely happy.

Whatever may have been said, I know he's pleased now!

As discreetly as I can, I take that tortuous elastic band off my private bits, hitch up my panties and put my skirt back on. I find my missing shoe and, still a bit conscious that we could have been watched from the building across the street, I fetch some tissues from my bag and help old Cartwright quickly make himself decent.

Smiling and breathless, he gives me the sixty pounds that our exchange began with, along with another nice, crisp twenty pound note on top. "Thank you!" he says breathlessly. I just smile and grab my jacket.

"Same time next week?" I ask quietly.

He thinks deeply for a moment. "I'm not sure yet," he replies. "There might be a church social - but I'll let you know by Friday."

"Okay - hope to see you then!" Grabbing my handbag I stroll towards the elevators, confident I can pencil him in my diary for next week. It's been almost three years now since Mr Cartwright missed one of our sessions, and it's not likely to happen just because of some crappy church social!

I guess he gets something from me that his wife Linda can't give him? But that's for his shrink to figure out. I'm his hooker, and I've just been paid - and as far as I'm concerned, that's all that counts!