It was just annoying, Roger fumed at his desk; his date last night had not gone well, a perfectly attractive young lady, but very little between the ears, and far more interested in the contents of his wallet than of his pants. His eyes roamed irritably about, looking through the glass walls of his office at the more or less vacant call centre floor. Almost everyone had gone home already.

Penelope was still sat at her desk, stunning as ever if in a buttoned-down, slightly prim way. Her effortless grace in heels and her shapely behind would be distracting, if she actually let herself relax out of work mode once in a while. Still, she was a good PA, and that was worth her stuffiness.

The new cleaner was the only other person still in work at PM on a rainy Tuesday, Melanie something or other. She was bustling around doing her thing, lovely lass, common and loud, but harmless enough, so he usually gave her little notice.

Maybe it was the frustration of last night, maybe it was seeing the tantalizing imprint of what looked like stockings pressing through the tight skirt Penelope was wearing. Maybe it was her complete disinterest in any approaches.

Whatever the cause, he found himself watching Melanie instead of lusting after Penelope. She was wearing low heels and a simple black skirt, with a white blouse, nothing tight or revealing. But he couldn't help noticing as she bent to lift a waste basket, that she too had quite a shapely behind. He caught himself in a fantasy of that behind, skirt drawn up, exposed as she leant on his desk.

Feeling his eyes, Melanie looked over and gave him an impish smile through the glass wall that separated his office from the main floor.

She had seen him looking, and enjoyed it.

His eye was drawn by Penelope rising like a graceful swan and strutting off the main floor; she would be going to the post room to flirt with that muscle-bound ham head again... usually, she'd be gone a good hour. His reverie was broken by Melanie entering his room. 

"Maid service," she announced, with a flirty curtsey and a broad grin. His mind instantly replaced the cleaner's attire with an infinitely less sensible French maid's outfit, and he found he liked the image.

He felt blood rush to his too long neglected groin, caught off guard by his own daydreams, and he frantically fought for control before his tight trousers betrayed him. But Melanie was already at his desk, looking down at the waste bin by his feet, he saw her eyebrows raise in surprise at the swelling building in his pants and her eyes slide back to meet his gaze

She held his eyes for a long moment, and he found himself frozen in that gaze. Slowly, a wicked smile spread across her lips; without breaking eye contact, her hands slid up and smoothly undid the buttons of her blouse to let it fall open. He was surprised to see that beneath it she wore a sheer black bra, transparent in all the right places to leave nothing to the imagination.

She was offering him a very clear invitation, yet she made no move towards him. She stood waiting patiently, as if she was in a queue at a supermarket and not exposed in her horny boss's office. It slowly dawned on him that she wanted to be told what he wanted her to do... oh, she was willing... more than willing, but she wanted him to say the words, him to be the one that took it forward.

Well, if she was going to wait for him to start things off, he would make sure she had no doubts and gave him what he really wanted. He pulled a stern expression and saw her smile falter a little in response. "Why are you standing there with your shirt open?" he demanded, his voice harsh. Her fingers sprang to the buttons, noticeably trembling in an ineffectual fumble to button it back up. "Take the damn thing off and get on your knees, here," he ordered, pointing between his knees.

Her mouth widened in shock, stunned that he would speak that way, that he expected her to comply. He noted with satisfaction that her blouse was already sliding off her shoulders before she had even composed her expression. As it fell to the floor, she sashayed forwards, wiggling deliberately to show off her hips. She rested her hands on his knees, and almost demurely sank to kneel between his thighs. He saw her take a steadying breath before her eyes rose to meet his again, an unspoken question hanging in them.

When she spoke her voice was soft, absent the usual arrogant cheek, respectful. "Tell me what you need from me, Sir"

She enunciated that capital S, making clear it was not intended as an honorific for his corporate position; it was a declaration, that she was his to use.

He felt a hot flush of excitement course through him, and felt his constrained manhood swell painfully against his tight trousers, Christ, and she hadn't even touched him yet, he thought. She was waiting patiently, her face a pleasant friendly smile, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed that her normal cheekiness was still very much present, but contained now, and somehow lent a counterpoint to her submission. It showed she was not cowed in the slightest, she was choosing to follow his commands. It was hot as fuck.

"Are you wearing matching underwear?" he demanded, the sudden impulsive thought being given voice before he had considered it properly.

She nodded, "Yes, Sir, I am."

"Show me." It wasn't a request anymore. His voice was gravelly as he fought for control of his lust, and lost. It was a command. "Show me."

She slid back to her feet, and without any hesitation drew her black skirt up her thighs until it was bunched at her waist. His eyes trailed up her long bare legs. She was indeed wearing matching underwear, the sheer material fitted tightly against her skin and showed she was freshly shaven. Her smooth skin shimmered behind the gauzy, stocking-like cloth, not at all covered, but somehow more enticing than were she to be fully exposed. His eyes lingered on a small tattoo of a rose on her hip, barely peeking out under the waistband.

His eyes met hers again and he told her to turn around. She did so immediately, slipping her hands to the back of her skirt to hold it up and ensure it did not obscure his view. She bent slightly, arching her back and thrusting her buttocks towards him. He hadn't asked for that, but he appreciated the display, and her willingness all the more. Damn, but she had a nice ass; the sheer material clung to her pert cheeks like a second skin, accentuating her shape, but concealing nothing.

He was torn with a mad temptation to slap his hand across her cheeks, to see if she would squeak in protest, or moan in pleasure at his rough touch. As he lifted his hand to spank her, he noted a telltale dark spot where the material passed between her shapely thighs, a damp patch, right where the folds of her sex would be pressed against the black fabric. He watched mesmerized for a few long moments as it spread, the sheer material becoming almost transparent with her rising arousal.  

She didn't move at all, frozen in place with her ass inches from his chest, awaiting his instruction. The power he felt was intoxicating. Seeing the visceral evidence of her getting wet without being touched was better than anything he had experienced before. He found himself wondering where the line was, how far would she allow him to take this. He decided he needed to push her, exert his power and see whether she would shy away, or beg for more.

He trailed his fingers up the back of her thigh, felt her shiver at his caress, goose skin pricked her flesh at his touch and she let out a very soft mmm of pleasure. He traced his fingertip along the line between her underwear and her bare skin, working from her ass, around her thigh; gently, slowly, kindly, he worked his hand to the front of her leg, and traced the edge of her knickers down towards her sodden sex. 

Still she didn't move. He slipped his fingertips further tuntil they brushed lightly against her labia, through the damp fabric.

She let out a barely audible moan, but remained stock still, hands still grasping her crumpled skirt, buttocks still presented towards him. He pressed more firmly, stroking her through the material, and this time her moan was louder, but still soft and breathy. She shifted her weight, parting her legs slightly more to allow his roaming hand greater access to her.

He curled his hand, letting his middle finger press firmly against her opening, whilst his thumb rubbed her clit. He was deliberately rough, and it had the desired effect; she twitched visibly, and this time her moan was a far more satisfying volume. He felt her warmth swell and a fresh flood of hot dampness spread through her knickers. He abandoned any pretense of gentleness, groping her with his strong hand, pushing the tip of his finger through the material to just barely penetrate her.

Her breathing became ragged, she began rocking against his hand whilst whispers of strained pleasure escaped her lips. "Do you like that, slut?" he asked in evil pleasure.

She gasped in response "Yes Sir, I love it, thank you for giving Your Slut such pleasure." 

"Your Slut"; the words bounced in his head; in one sentence, she had yielded herself utterly to his wishes.

"If you are 'my slut', then perhaps you should be showing me what I get for my money," he replied, mock-sternly. She turned to face him, one hand straightening her twisted panties. Almost absentmindedly, she licked the fingers afterwards, showing no sign that tasting her own wet pussy was remotely worthy of note.

"Might your slut have your permission to demonstrate her blow job skills?" the question was demure, but the glint in her eye spoke louder than words that she was clearly in possession of formidable talents.

"My slut may," he replied, but held up a cautionary finger, "but this is a nice suit. I do not want it stained, you understand?" It wasn't, he had dozens, and who cared about a lipstick smear anyway, it would wash off; no, he wanted to remind her that he was in charge here.

"Thank you, Sir," she replied with a breathy smile, "I promise I won't spill any, that is, should I please you sufficiently to permit me the chance."

As she fell back to her knees, his mind raced. She had actually just outright told him that she was going to swallow his cum, reassured him she would manage it all. He decided he would make her work for it, see how skilled this little slut truly was.

He had expected her to unzip his pants, but to his surprise, she instead lowered her face and began planting gentle kisses on him through the fabric, searching and probing with her lips as she defined the shape of what lay underneath. He groaned in frustrated lust, loving every second, but keen to have her wet mouth around him. He endured for a few long moments before his willpower faded; he didn't just want her to suck his cock anymore, he needed it, and he needed it Right. Fucking. Now.

He savagely caught a fistful of her hair and forced her to look up at him. She showed no reaction to such rough treatment, emboldening him to continue. "I said for you to suck my cock, slut, not wash my pants."

He rose to his feet, and with his free hand, clumsily undid his trousers, freeing his aching manhood. She reached up and tugged them down to his knees for him, and looked up expectantly. His rock-hard member hung mere inches from her face. She couldn't possibly miss his intent, his need, but yet she waited.

He realized with a shock that his fist was still clamped in her hair, controlling her head, and the thought and the action came instantaneously. Yanking her head toward him, he thrust his hips and drove himself into her mouth. She didn't resist at all, and he went deeper than he had intended, the slick tightness of her throat readily greeting, and then accommodating his length. Her mouth was so warm, so delightfully wet, so fuckable.

She drew back, achingly slowly, her full lips trailing along his shaft whilst her tongue probed and stroked at him; reaching the tip, she puckered her lips to glide around the shape of his helmet without breaking contact. Then, opening her mouth a little she lunged forward again, mimicking his thrust into her throat and driving him deep once more. As she found her rhythm, she picked up the pace, sucking on her backward motions before taking him fully. Every time he felt his cock hit the back of her throat, it sent a shockwave of pleasure rippling through him. Conscious thought abandoned him and he lost himself in sensation.

He became aware of a sound, soft, subtle, but pervasive. Despite the lust roaring through him, he tried to pick it out. Between Melanie's ragged breathing - and his own - and the delightfully wet, sucking sounds as she went to town on him, there was another sound.

He unclenched one eye and to his horror saw Penelope standing in his office doorway. Her skintight pencil skirt and fitted blouse silhouetting her form against the dark wooden door. Her face, usually a mask of professional disdain, was split in a wicked smirk, as she stood silently watching the cleaner at work on him. He started in shock, but Penelope immediately touched a finger to her lips and motioned for him to continue. Melanie, oblivious to their audience, had redoubled her efforts; fuck, that girl knew how to suck cock.

With panic rising in his chest, he felt the all too familiar crescendo of need rising in his gut. She was going to make him cum. This slutty little nobody was going to make him cum, in his office, whilst his PA watched. He would never live it down, he'd be a laughing stock, he'd be finished. The terror and the need warred within him, somehow feeding off each other as his climax drew inexorably closer. Desperately he wanted to stop. Desperately, he didn't.

His eyes caught Penelope over Melanie's bobbing head and he offered her a silent plea, begging her with nothing more than his expression to not use this against him. Penelope's smile deepened. She took a confident stride forward, then slid one of her impossibly heeled feet to the side, pulling the already tight material of her skirt almost to bursting point.

With a smile he could only describe as evil, she grasped her skirt at the hips, and working her perfectly manicured fingers, began to inch it up her legs, bunching the material as it grew shorter.

As she exposed her perfect legs, he groaned. The new stimulus was like pouring gas on a fire, he was losing the ability to withstand Melanie's relentless tongue and Penelope's sexual display. The hem of the skirt passed mid-thigh, revealing that Penelope's black hose were actually stockings that were crowned in expensive-looking red lace.

Still further and her panties were on show, skimpy, lacy red things that hugged her like a second skin and were a perfect match for her stockings.

"Fuck!" The word tumbled from his lips without having passed through his brain. He felt the pressure on his cock change as Melanie smiled her satisfaction for a second, with him still inside her mouth, mistaking his enjoyment of Penelope for pleasure at her own efforts.

Melanie performed a moan, then another, and he glanced down, realizing he had all but ignored her whilst staring at Penelope. Her arm was twitching wildly, and as a third urgent moan fluttered around his manhood, he realized she was touching herself, pleasuring herself whilst sucking him off.

His eyes snapped back to Penelope, who still wore that evil smirk, she had seized the waistband of those lacy panties in her hands and slowly, deliberately drew them down her thighs. She released them at knee height and they tumbled down her shapely calves to sit atop those killer heels. Penelope wasn't shaven bald; instead, a single narrow line of very groomed hair graced her tight mound, somehow classier than Melanie's smooth pussy, but no less worthy of lust.

It was too much, having his cock sucked by a slut that was enjoying it so much she was frigging herself, whilst watching the prim and proper lady he had lusted over for months displaying herself so openly. He couldn't hold it anymore, with a loud grunt of release he exploded, his whole body throbbing as he pumped streams of hot cum into Melanie's eager mouth.

It felt like his orgasm went on forever; like he was emptying his whole body in one enormous load. It was amazing.

As the sensation subsided, he saw Penelope pull down her skirt and ghost from the room, leaving her red panties on his floor as a reminder of where she had stood.

He looked down at Melanie, and she smiled like the cat that got the cream; because she had. Despite her promises to not make a mess, she had clearly not been able to take it all, telltale wet lines traced her chin, showing where his explosive orgasm had leaked free. 

Melanie swallowed hard, and just a little over theatrically, then stretched and yawned, clearly displaying her now empty mouth. She was a bad girl, and he loved it.

She rose to her feet and then dropped a mock curtsey. "Thank you, Sir, will that be all?" she asked, flirty sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Yes Melanie," he replied, trying to sound cool and professional whilst his mind raced, "that will be all for now."

She smiled and turned to leave, but he caught her wrist. As she half-turned back, he ran a finger through the slick wetness on her chin and held it up before her eyes. "I expect a better effort next time," he said with a note of finality.

This time there was no flirtiness, no sarcasm or attitude from her, she bowed her head deferentially and simply said, "Yes, Sir."