Charles Smythe's Adult Stories

The Boss Lady

Part-4-of-4

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The next time that I was ‘helping’ her, as I slowly slid my tongue up and down her moist slit, I listened to her soft, even breathing and little gasps each time I my tongue passed over her clit. I made sure she was close to orgasm, trembling, and her legs tense, and then I touched her with my hands for the first time. When I lightly ran my fingertips up the insides of her thighs, I was rewarded with a startled gasp. I was dimly aware that she had raised her head at the contact, but I just flattened my palms on her thighs, massaging her warm, silky flesh as my tongue burrowed deeper, and drove her to orgasm before she could react in any particular way to my touch.
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When I finished, I gave no indication that I had done anything different.
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I progressed slowly thereafter, starting with caressing her thighs and hips while I pleasured her, and then gradually progressing to holding her hips while I made love to her pussy with my mouth. After the first time or 2, it even seemed that she was anticipating the touches. When I would touch her, she would always react, with a little gasp or a little shiver or an increase in her breathing. If I only touched her when she was already close to cumming, it would set her off almost immediately.
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Sometimes, as I ate her, I was amazed at what we had and hadn’t done. I had never touched her above the waist. I had never even seen her close to naked. I had not fingered her at all, nor touched her ass. I had made her cum, jerking and twitching against my tongue, many times, but had never kissed her.
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Finally, one day while I was happily burrowed between her smooth silky thighs and her head was slowly rolling from side to side, her breath coming in pleasured little gasps, I caressed her hips. When I felt her shudder with the added arousal, I backed off, my tongue barely touching her. At first, she just relaxed until I dove back in again. I caressed her hips as my tongue slid deep into her womanly folds, causing her to react with something almost like a whimper. Then I backed off again. This time, I got the reaction that I wanted. She lifted her hips slightly, instinctively seeking the source of her pleasure, arching her hips out in need. I immediately rewarded her by drawing her clit into my mouth and slurping it slowly, achingly, letting her shudder as she lifted her hips off the chair.
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The moment she started to relax I’d backed off again, making her reach for me or I’d press my tongue against her but not move it. Either way, essentially forcing her to move and seek her own pleasure. Her arousal battled her self-control and won. Within a few minutes, I had her rocking and bucking her hips against my mouth. She was so lost in the pleasure that when she cummed it was intense. Her hips bucked her slick, clasping pussy up and down on my tongue, almost riding it, while her breath escaped her in tiny involuntary grunts. Her hands clutched the arms of her chair as I held her creamy, jerking hips.

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The Boss Lady

Part-3-of-4

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The Boss Lady

Part-3-of-4

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The Boss Lady

Part-2-of-4

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I stared at her, thoughts I’ll never remember racing through my head and then the power saw on the floor above screamed again, and she actually shook her head and groaned in frustration. I realized the problem immediately, having been there many times myself, and my mind slammed into one of those walls that we are all sometimes presented with in our lives.
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I had 2-choices, and just two. If I did the ethical, professional thing and left her alone, I kept my job safe. But we risked losing a huge account, the kind of blow to a reputation from which lawyers sometimes didn’t recover. Nobody wants to hire the consultant that the big boys didn’t think was good enough. If Beverly went into that meeting stressed, tired, angry and now sexually frustrated, and tried to impress a dozen or so veteran male lawyers…
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One choice was good for me and one might be good for her. I probably should have chosen the one that was good for her and potentially disastrous for me, but my brain was turned off. Beverly was the best boss that I’d ever had, and I dared to even think of her as a friend. I had to help her and I only knew one way to do that.
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I eased into her office, very softly closed the door, and quietly walked around her desk without her even knowing that I was there. Carefully to not touch her, I knelt down, leaned in, and ran my tongue over and between her desperately moving fingers.
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I have no doubt that, had she not been as close as she was, as desperate as she was, or as frustrated as she was, I would have either been kicked in the face, fired, arrested, sued, or all of the above. However, Beverly was way too close for that. Her fingers in shock, like the rest of her, froze at the first touch of my tongue. I didn’t waste any time, the flat of my tongue pushed her fingers aside. When my tongue started fluttering over her clit that was all it took. What her fingers couldn’t accomplish thanks to stress and a power saw, my warm, wet, soft tongue, combined with surprise, accomplished easily.
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Her frozen shock turned directly into rigidity and her body locked up tight. I felt her spasm, heard a deep gasp, and then my mouth was flooded with the sweet, tangy taste of her. Her breathing stopped for a good 15-seconds as the spasms continued, and then she went limp with a sigh of suddenly released breath.
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I licked her gently through her orgasm and only stopped when she relaxed. Then I leaned back on my knees, glancing up at her face. I’ll never know how I had the courage to do that.
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Her head was still back, but her eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling and her lips were parted, her breathing was still shaky. Then she slowly lowered her face to look at me; those cold blue eyes were wide with shock and her face still flushed from her orgasm.
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I couldn’t bear to meet that gaze, so without touching her, I licked my lips clean, stood up. And then I walked out of her office, opening the door and closing it behind me as if nothing unusual had happened.
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At that point I knew 2-things for sure, I would need a new job and I would never forget what she tasted like.
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Two minutes later, exactly the time at which the meeting was scheduled to start, Beverly opened her door. Then without a glance she walked past me, heading for the meeting.
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At this point, I figured that I now had until the meeting ended to pack up my things and run for my life, but I couldn’t make myself move. Belatedly, I thought about the pussy that I’d just licked and my mind was whirling to process the sensory data, since I had not gotten a clear look, as absurd as that seemed. Soft, downy blonde hair, trimmed pleasantly close and velvety soft, warm skin. That sweetly tangy scent that I knew would haunt my dreams. A taste that made me want nothing more in the world than one more lick.
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I just sat there dumbly, reliving the experience over and over in my head, wishing I had an office with a door, for a long time unable to move or think clearly. My thoughts waffled constantly between shock at what I had just done, fear of my career ending, and an arousal that had me throbbing and squirming in my chair.
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The Boss Lady

Part 1-of-4

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I groaned softly as I settled back at my desk, reaching down surreptitiously to massage one of my calves.
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“Too many trips to the copier again, Linda?” My boss asked sympathetically on her way by with her third cup of coffee.
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I heaved a deep sigh, starting to respond, but she was already through her office door, letting it swing mostly closed as she settled in, sipping her coffee. I shook my head and shifted my massage to my sore feet. It certainly wasn’t my fault that they had installed the copier on the far side of the floor, and it wasn’t Beverly’s fault that she needed things copied a hundred times a day.
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I’d been Beverly’s assistant for almost a year; she was my fifth attempt at finding a steady job in the field. My first boss had been a kindly older man, but his second heart attack had forced his retirement, and there’d been no other job open for me that wouldn’t have required more sucking up than I was willing to do. My second boss had tried to convince me that assistants always worked until 3 a.m. every night. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t mind long hours, I don’t have a life for them to interfere with anyway. Still, if I wanted to work 18-hour days 7-days a week, I could have gone to law school and then I wouldn’t be holding down legal assistant jobs for crap pay and no benefits. The third and fourth jobs, well, the less said about those, the better.
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Then I had come to Murphy and Associates, a tiny law firm that consisted of Beverly Murphy and her partner, the elderly man whose practice she had taken over. He was near retirement, but apparently didn’t like his wife all that much, so a young, ambitious lawyer who could take over his practice while not making him work too hard fit him like a glove.
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Beverly also had 2-paralegals working for her, but I rarely saw them much. They worked on another floor of the office building where the law firm had its offices, and we shared them with 2-other such firms, so I basically only knew them as names on interoffice mail envelopes.
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Beverly Murphy had made a reputation for herself as a trial lawyer in her late twenties and early thirties. Now 40-years old, she practiced mostly as a trial consultant to larger firms. She still cut quite an imposing figure on the rare occasions she actually went to a trial, though, tall, fit, blonde, long legs, cold blue eyes. She was the very image of a ruthless, bloodsucking lawyer.
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I thought she was actually a pretty nice woman, myself. Quiet and private about herself, but always composed, with a ready smile. She was also one of the few lawyers I’d met that didn’t treat their assistants like slaves. She wasn’t one of those fruity saccharine types either. When she asked you to call her Beverly, it wasn’t patronizing. When she asked you to get coffee for her, it was because she couldn’t get it herself at the moment, being stuck on a conference call or coming in a bit late and needing to rush straight to a meeting.
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Of course, by this point in my career with her, I’d barely gotten up the courage to call her anything at all. I’m what you’d call the shy type. Very petite from head to toe, short red hair, big green eyes, still far too many freckles across my nose for a girl of 28, and a body that I worked hard on but seemed capable of attracting attention only from married men a quarter-century older than me. The fact that I hadn’t been on a date with a boy since middle school didn’t help with that at all. I couldn’t even take advantage of it, for crying out loud. I’ve known I was gay since I was 16, when I realized that my masturbatory fantasies hadn’t involved a boy in quite some time and weren’t likely to any time soon. It hadn’t taken very many dates with women to seal things more or less in stone for me. I was lucky, though. When I came out in college, my friends were supportive, my mom seemed relieved that I had finally figured it out, and my dad’s reaction consisted of one piece of advice: “Just remember, honey, a woman can be just as much of a prick as any man.” Thanks, Dad, not bad advice, though.
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Beverly, on the other hand, was divorced, though I knew little about her life in that respect. I’d heard something about a law professor, but she’d been divorced for years, and certainly didn’t talk about her love life with me. She was one of those people who you’d finish telling your life story to and then realize she hasn’t said a thing about herself.
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So far, my time working for her had consisted entirely of variations on the exchange I just mentioned, though, basic pleasantries, small talk, and the like. We’d had a couple of very pleasant conversations over coffee and bagels, and she took me out to dinner a few times with the rest of the firm to celebrate a particularly big account, so I hesitantly considered us friends, or at least friendly co-workers.
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“Linda?”
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I looked up immediately when she called my name. Then winced again at the ache in my feet and ankles, as I got up to see what Beverly wanted.
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She looked up, her Blue Tooth phone on her ear and her desk covered with paper. “Linda,” she said, muttering into her phone again, “I can’t find those contract copies they sent over last week.”
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I nodded. “They’re filed, I’ll get them.” I stepped to the corner of her office where her master files were kept, quickly rifling through a couple of drawers. This wasn’t unusual. Beverly was a very good lawyer, but she preferred to do everything electronically, by email or scan. Paper documents just got in her way, and she had no patience for them. So I kept the files myself, so that she didn’t have to worry about keeping track of documents she hated dealing with anyway.
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It’s funny, looking back. We’d never actually discussed that, but I’d just sort of done it that way without thinking, and she’d never questioned it. In hindsight, that probably should have told me something.
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I pulled out the file she was looking for, slipping it onto the desk.
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“Yes,” Beverly was saying into the phone, “I’ve got them right here.” She gave me a grateful look. “Yes, you were saying, about the land agreements?” She glanced up at me, and I nodded, flipping the file open and paging to the document she needed. Another thing I did without ever having been asked.
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I stayed there for the rest of the call, flipping to this page or that, as I tried to follow half a conversation. I’d gotten pretty good at it. Finally, Beverly disconnected the call and rolled her eyes.
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“Idiot,” she muttered. Then she shook her head as she looked at the large crystal clock on her desk. “I’ve got a meeting in just a few minutes, make sure I’m not disturbed, okay?”
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“No problem,” I assured her, re-closing the file and returning it to its drawer before slipping out of the office and closing the door behind me.
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This was also common. A few times a week, clients or prospective clients would come by. Beverly’s practice depended on these meetings. Basically, they were sales pitches. Thus, especially after a call like the one she’d just finished, talking to some annoying mouthpiece somewhere, she’d take a few minutes to relax and get herself together before the meeting, so that she could go in and blow their socks off with the Murphy legal machine. In other words, to make herself look so frighteningly competent and ruthless that the clients just wouldn’t be able to imagine winning without her, and more importantly, unable to imagine losing with her.
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Believe me, it worked. I’d sat in on a few of these meetings. I wouldn’t be surprised if quite a few of her clients didn’t hire her just to make absolutely sure their opponents couldn’t.
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I went back to my desk, sinking gratefully back down into my chair, a large, comfortable, swiveling and tilting thing. Beverly spared no expense on the office furniture, something I appreciated greatly after years of being the assistant in the ‘ergonomic’ chair that made me feel like I was 90-years old when I went home at the end of the day.
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These quiet times that Beverly spent before meetings were private. I’d always stop calls going to her phone, and make anyone who showed up to see her wait. Her office had no windows, not even in the door, and she never talked about it, so I never knew what she did to compose herself for a meeting.
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No doubt, had I thought about it, I might have guessed. One of my friends from college became a surgeon, and according to him, it’s much more common than most people think. Beverly did the same thing that any number of surgeons, pilots, athletes, performers, and other high-stress professionals do to relax when they really need to be steady and relaxed, she got herself off. The surge of endorphins and other positive mood-affecting things that orgasm creates are more effective for calm and focus than just about any manmade drug could ever be, and cheaper, too.
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This particular day is the day that the inevitable finally happened. A faulty latch on her office door, of all things, changed my life. I heard a slight click, and saw her door inch open, as often happens with latches that don’t quite fit right anymore. My desk sits just outside her door in our little corner of the floor, so I saw it immediately. Without thinking, I got up to close the door again, and quite by accident glanced in through the two-inch-wide crack of open doorway.
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My composed, oh-so-private boss had her chair swiveled sideways and was leaning back with one of her long legs up on the desk and her hand under her skirt. Her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted. If it hadn’t been for the visible movement of her hand between her legs, and the death grip her other hand had on the arm of her chair, I might have thought she was asleep.
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Now, before anyone judges me prematurely, I did exactly what any good assistant would do. I set a world record for the slowest, quietest closing of a door in the history of mankind and crept back to my desk, where I sat perfectly still, waiting to see if I woke up. If it hadn’t been for my eyes being open wide enough to actually roll out of my head if I’d so much as sneezed, no one walking by would think anything odd had just happened.
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Two minutes later, Beverly left her office and went to the meeting, head to toe a calm, confident lawyer. Fortunately for me, she didn’t look at me as she went because I hadn’t managed to get my eyes back to their normal size yet. After a lot of thought, I realized that nothing was changed. She obviously hadn’t seen me so I could pretend that it hadn’t happened and nobody else had to know. All right, so I was naïve.
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After that, days when Beverly had meetings took on a whole different perspective for me. She’d close her door for her private time a little before that day’s meeting, and I’d suddenly find myself totally incapable of concentrating on anything. I carefully kept from thinking about what she was doing. If I thought about it, I pictured it, and that certainly didn’t help my composure.
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For the most part, it wasn’t even that I was aroused by the whole idea. I think that mostly I was confused. I’d certainly never felt any particular attraction for Beverly. I thought she was gorgeous, of course, but given her history of being straight and her general private attitude and her being my boss, I’d never looked at her through that particular lens. Slowly, over the weeks that followed, I found ways to excuse thinking about it. I mean, like any single girl, I needed my relaxation too, and since I hadn’t had a relationship in a couple of years I could certainly be forgiven if my mind happened to fix on the only sex-related thing to happen to me in a while. If what I saw happened to pop into my head when I was taking care of myself, usually near the end, that’s only natural, since my brain had to be seeking any clear image to focus on. This made perfect sense to me, and I resolved not to feel badly about it.
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I realized that I was in trouble about 2-months after my accidental spying, when I realized that while I’d been sitting at my desk waiting for Beverly to come out for a meeting, I’d been contemplating ways to tamper with the door handle to get it to pop open again. I stared at it, willing the door to slip open and give me just one more glimpse. I told myself that I just needed to see it once more, and that would satisfy the curiosity that had been raging in me.
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Finally, after Beverly had left for a meeting one day, I went into her office to file some papers and caught sight of something light-colored under her desk. Of course, thinking like an idiot, I thought that it was some papers that had slipped off the desk. When I knelt down to get them, I found myself holding a pair of lacy white panties. Even that might not have been enough to doom me but then a distinctive fragrance caught my attention. It was a fragrance that I hadn’t smelled in far, far too long. I could smell Beverly on those panties, and that sensory addition to the image already in my head sent a quiver through my breast and parts beyond that I hadn’t felt in a long, long, time.
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The panties were halfway into my pocket before I realized that Beverly would probably be looking for them later. Reluctantly I replaced them under the desk, slunk back out to my own desk. As I sat there, I wondered how long it would take me to get the delicious, softly musky-sweet smell of her out of my nose.

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That night, I found some of the strongest, spiciest food I could at a takeout place and breathed so deep I half-wondered if I were trying to actually scour my sinuses completely down to the bone. After that, I tried to erase the whole thing from my mind. And might have been able to, if not for our upstairs neighbors.
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One day, Beverly had a meeting scheduled with a huge client, a major downtown firm, the sort that could be a cash cow for our little firm for years, if we made the right first impression and nailed the first job they gave us. Beverly had been stressing over the meeting for 2-weeks and had been as short-tempered as I’d ever seen her. Her emails to the paralegals got more and more demanding and frustrated, and she wasn’t talking to anyone. To top it all off, on the day of the meeting that would decide whether we got hired or not, the offices above ours were remodeling their offices, complete with hammers, saws, drills, you name it.
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I was nervously sitting at my desk waiting. The meeting was in 5-minutes and Beverly hadn’t come out of her office yet and I was worried. I was afraid that she might have fallen asleep…afterwards. That’s happened to me several times, so I know how easy it is to drift off after a well-needed orgasm.
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I’ll never know what I hoped, subconsciously, might be going on, but before I could think, I was up, and knocked lightly on her office door. There was no answer.
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I knocked again, slightly harder and still no answer.
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So, yes, thinking that I could explain it away if I caught her asleep with her hand up her skirt, or die of embarrassment, I opened the door.
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Beverly wasn’t asleep. Fortunately for me, she had her eyes closed and she wasn’t listening for the door to open. She was leaned back in her chair with her leg on the desk like before and her hand was under her skirt working furiously. Her head was back and her eyes were closed, but her expression wasn’t the dreamy look of a woman who has just had an orgasm, or even the straining look of a woman who’s very close to one. Instead, it was the frustrated, desperate look of a woman who simply cannot quite get there.
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I stared at her, thoughts I’ll never remember racing through my head…

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To be continued…

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To read more of my adult stories visit my blogs:

…(http://www.charles-smythe.blogspot.com )
…(http://www.charles-smythe-2.blogspot.com)
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…and this one …(http://findiit.org/27/posts/14_treefrog/527_old_girlfriend/507_A_gift_that_keeps_on_giving_.html )

The Bachelorette Bash

Part-2-of-2

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“You know what I want … please.” She was breathing hard and her hips were undulating slightly as she sought to press her pussy against Christie’s face. Laughingly, Christie continued to kiss and nip the area all around Peggy’s now super-heated pussy without contacting with it directly. “Lick me,” Peggy moaned pitifully as Christie again licked the inside of her thigh. “Nooooo … lick my…. lick … lick my…” wailed Peggy, unable to even say it.
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“Lick your what, Peggy?”
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“Lick my … pussy,” she gasped helplessly. Christie immediately moved her mouth over Peggy’s gash and was pleased to see how wet she was. Peggy had a steady trickle of thick feminine lubricant oozing from the base of her pussy slowly down her ass crack, leaving a shiny trail across her tightly puckered back door. The strong, musky flavor of Peggy’s juices was like a narcotic for Christie, and one, which she’d gone too long without. Eagerly she began to slowly, but very firmly, massage Peggy’s engorged outer with her tongue, working first one side and then the other. When Peggy pushed her hips up off the floor to increase the pressure, Christie knew that she liked what she was doing. She continued the tongue massage for a few minutes and then switched tactics, taking as much of one of Peggy’s thick outer pussy lips into her mouth as possible and then sucking on it. The thick flesh, so recently devoid of pubic hair, was newly responsive, and taking it between her lips caused Christie to come into contact with the super sensitive inner folds of Peggy’s pussy with her lips and tongue. Read the rest of this entry »

The Bachelorette Bash

Part-1-of-2

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Barbara, my best friend since grade school, didn’t know what she was letting herself in for when she asked me to arrange her bachelorette party. I confess that I’d always been a little jealous of the blonde bombshell. I sometimes wonder why a drop-dead gorgeous babe like her would want to hang out with me. I’m not exactly chopped liver, but I’m sure not in her league. The answer is obvious, of course. Beautiful girls want to be the center of attention, and there is no better way to get it than to pal around with average-looking girls. I’m pleased with my appearance now that my complexion cleared up, I shed my puppy fat, my breasts got bigger, and thanks to my orthodontist, my teeth got straighter. Even though I get my share of wolf whistles, I’m not too far out of it but I’m still not in Barbara’s league.
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Since my parents were spending the summer at their cabin in the cool mountains of Virginia, I decided to hold Barbara’s party at their luxurious apartment in the city. Barbara and I share the same circle of friends, so making out the invitations was a piece of cake. The only other thing I had to do was stock up on booze and arrange for a caterer. I also had to line up some men, but that was easy, too. I’ll tell you how I did that a little later.
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The big day of the party finally arrived, and ten of Barbara’s closest girlfriends showed up bearing two gifts, one practical and one for fun. Read the rest of this entry »