I don't know why they call it work. I sign in. I check the boxes that come in via the loading dock, then I sit at my desk. Sometimes my fingers slip under my little thong and I masturbate there if I am bored and the men are busy. When I am not at my desk I am usually being called "onto the carpet" as the men say when they are not saying cute things about my bottom and asking if they can "put it in." I was on the carpet late this morning. I have recorded my encounter as faithfully as I could.
"Missy, what am I going to do with you?" said my boss Daisy, as she rose from her chair while all the time tapping the sharp end of her pencil on the desk. The men call Miss Daisy "the tarantula." I can't imagine why. She has a pretty face, and she keeps her body up. She wears old time underwear though, those garter things. Black, usually. Maybe it looks like a tarantula. I don't know, I'm not good at those things.
"If I've done something wrong, I'm sorry."
"How many this time?" she asked, moving slowly from behind the desk until she was close enough to lift the hem of my dress with her pencil. "How many big, throbbing cocks?"
"Three. But we were on our ten minute break, Miss Daisy, so I thought it would be ok."
I felt the cold, rubbery edge of the eraser on my thighs as she eased my skirt higher and higher with her pencil. "Ten minutes! What can you accomplish in ten minutes?!"
I scooched up in the chair until I could feel cool air on my twat. I don't know where my thong ended up. That's what I like to call it--twat. It sounds so flubbery and elastic.
"Good lord, it's dripping!"
"We didn't have time to clean up. The bell had rung and the men returned to their posts in a hurry. Ed got his caught in his zipper."
"Well, we can't have you sitting there smelling like a sex factory and oozing all over your chair. We don't want the same thing to happen as last time do we?"
"No, Miss Daisy, we wouldn't want that," I replied. Last time the men had sold my chair to one of the drivers for almost $400 because they said it smelled so good and they'd make a nice profit. But then I didn't have a chair for over a week.
Miss Daisy's eyes were all glazed over and lowered herself to her knees slowly, as if she was sinking in quicksand while all the time staring into my twat. I felt her need--women sense these things--and looped my legs over the arms of the chair. Gosh, you could hear my nether lips slither apart like a boot coming out of mud. That was so cool.
"We must clean you up before we send you back to work," said Miss Daisy oddly, like she was a zombie or something. She didn't want to have to buy me another new chair or anything.
Miss Daisy has a big mouth rimmed with bright red lipstick. For a prim and proper looking boss, she sure enjoyed trying to cram all my twat into her mouth. Gosh, I'm lucky to have a boss like miss Daisy. She pushed my thighs even further apart while she sucked my clit into that red gash of a mouth. She slurped. Like she was hungry. Then I felt something entering my twat. Little balls.
"OH, Miss Daisy, what's that?!" I exclaimed.
She stopped licking to look up. The area all around her mouth glistened like a thin sheet of glare ice. She licked her lips and said "I'm lubing up my pearls, dear girl."
"Gosh, Miss Daisy, you don't have to do that!"
"You don't mean...."
"Yes, Billy Joe has got some of his in the other place."
Miss Daisy lifted my butt off the chair. I helped, of course. It's so nice to help people when you can. "I see, dear!" Miss Daisy said, exclaiming the pearls Billy Joe left before going back to work tonguing my swollen little clit.
Then I felt the pearls slowly being stuffed back in my "anal canal," as Billy Joe called it. For each one that went in, one of Daisy's slowly oozed out of my twat. I didn't think anything could feel better. It was like a snake was slithering in all my favorite places and tonguing all the best parts with that flickering tongue they have. Of course I really wouldn't like a real snake down there. I don't think so anyway...
By the way, Billy Joe was the cute one with the cock that curved to the left. He liked to tell how it was best for the ladies that way. It could get in the crevices, he said. He was a vacuum salesman before they had to let him go for giving discounts to the housewives who bent over for him. He liked putting his "crevice tool" up my anal canal best he said.
And he really put a load in me this morning. But those pearls were filling me up fast, too. I had to loop my legs around Miss Daisy's head and smash her to my clit because I was starting to get those ripples in my tummy that meant I would lose control and I wanted that fat red tongue to nail my clit and dance on it and maybe smoosh up against it really hard. Then I remembered some sorta rule that said you shouldn't pin your bosses face to your twat but I didn't think she'd mind. I'd ask my friend Mindy later if it was ok. Mindy helped me through a lot of things I didn't understand.
I was thinking of the time Mindy decided my twat needed stretching and how she showed me the variety of things she had to put between her cute twat lips when all of a sudden the ripples in my tummy turned into large waves and I had to grab the arms of the chair hard. I was riding Miss Daisy's head like a bucking bronco. "YippieTieYieYippie!" I screamed as my twat convulsed like it does and I could feel it flooding Miss Daisy's face.
Gosh, it just about left me limp as a noodle.
But to see Miss Daisy's face! Juices were running down her chin. Her pearls left a wet chain design on her blouse. And something was buzzing....
"Here," she said, reaching under her garter and removing a small box connected to a wire that snaked up her thighs. The box had one of those knobs you twirl. She handed it to me.
Miss Daisy plopped herself onto the top of her desk and spread her legs. The garters pulled on the black stocking tops. The wire from the little box in my hand dissappeared into her twat.
I twisted the knob. Miss Daisy threw her head back and made a deep growling sound in her throat. I twisted the knob some more and her legs snapped shut like she was trying to trap a bug or something in her twat. She ripped at her blouse like a madwoman.
"More!" she screamed. Buttons flew everywhere.
I turned up the knob. She fondled her big breasts through the lacy bra. I don't know if that's the right word, fondle. She squeezed them really hard like she was punishing them for being so big and pronounced. Then she started pulling and twisting her nipples through the bra. Way cool.
So then I turned the knob DOWN. She went limp for a second. Her hands slowed, just barely grazing her big nips poking through the bra. She was breathing in short gasps like she had been running a marathon. Then she started whimpering like a puppy. "Please!" she said.
So I twisted the knob hard like I had seen her twist her big nips. She snapped upright, almost falling off the desk. Then she wiggled her big butt over to the corner of the desk and slid off until the edge was just pushing the thing hard into her twat. Her hand with those long red nails wrestled with the bra, pulling it down over her tits, all fiery red from all that twisting, her nips all dark and swollen and glowing like embers.
Gosh, she was violent when she had to get off! She pressed her twat and that thing into the corner of the desk and tried to keep the scream deep inside of her until I thought she was going to explode. She slammed her clitty down one last time into the desk corner, then she went limp, finally slithering onto the carpet.
Then the lunch bell rang. I propped Miss Daisy upright so she rested against the back of the desk. I shoved the box back into her hand.
"Thanks. That was way cool. I have to have lunch with Bobby. He said something about needing help with his blue balls."
"Wait," Miss Daisy croaked, "get me a new blouse from the closet."
Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Miss Daisy wore suits, always with the same blouse. I walked to the closet and picked one. There must have been thirty, all the same.
I picked up all the loose buttons before I left. When I bent over I could feel the cold air hitting the liquid leaking from me. I wondered how Miss Daisy got to her high position. She certainly wasn't very good at cleaning things up; I was sloppier than before down there. I practically sloshed as I walked out the door.
Index to The Erotic adventures of Missy, an Extrordinary Woman
III. A Hot Day. A hot car
III. Wandering Eyes - Or: How to Channel a Guy's Desires to Get Yours.
VII. Dinner Tail