I watched as Simma expertly wheeled the mouse around the spreadsheet, my hand resting lightly upon her shoulder next to a cascade of red hair. I had been working for three months now at the headquarters of Systems International in Yevczich, the capital of the small eastern European republic of Rolennia. Simma was my secretary—in fact she was the main reason I had quit my New York job and hauled my ass almost 4,000 miles to a berg no one I knew had ever heard of. The thing that amazed me is how facile she was with a mouse. It was like an extension of her hand... I had worked with computers for my whole career, but using a mouse just wasn't as second nature to me as it was to Simma. Maybe that's because Simma was just 23, and so she had been using a mouse basically since birth, when she had access to a computer. In a poor formerly Soviet-bloc country whose best-known exports were porn stars, those weren't always easy to come by.
"And zat is how you update ze exchange rate," she explained proudly. Her English was outstanding if accented in a country where not many spoke it.
"Simma, you are amazing. Are you
sure
you never went to college?"
"Only one University in Rolennia. Top five percent of... how you say, high school? ... get in. I finish six percent. I no have money to go school out of country, so I end up here."
"And am I ever thankful for it," I agreed, kissing the bright red hair on top her head gently.
"Stop it," she purred quietly, not really mad. "If you want kiss, I come in office."
"I'd like to come in my office," I agreed. Simma smiled, understanding my double-entrendre perfectly. She locked her workstation and followed me in, closing and locking the door behind her. I sat in my chair, turned sideways to my desk. Simma came by my chair, rested her hands on my armrests, and kissed me sweetly. Then with a smile, she proceeded to perform her duty... unzipping my pants, she expertly extracted my erect penis and proceeded to go down on me. See in Rolennia, not only does sexual harassment not exist, but secretaries are expected, required even, to attend to all of their bosses' needs—most especially their sexual ones. Being a secretary here can be a 24-hour job--at least it was for Simma, because I had never spent a night in Rolennia where Simma wasn't a welcome guest in my bed. But that is a somewhat unusual arrangement, which is why she didn't want me to kiss her in public. Most of the secretaries never got kissed by their bosses although they were dutifully having sex with them two or three times a day. Whereas most executives would send their secretaries away to sleep in their tiny private rooms on the first floor of the executive living quarters after the last fuck of the night, Simma spent her nights in my king-size with satin sheets, my arm wrapped around her slender waist to ward off the cold. I treated Simma like, well, a girlfriend rather than a sex toy, and I had heard rumors that there was some jealousy among some of the other secretaries because of it.
Simma sucked my dick with her usual mid-day efficiency. By now she knew just the right pace, just the right length of stroke, and just the right delicate spot over which to repeatedly run her tongue, so that she could suck me from zero to climax in just a few minutes. Efficiency was the order of the day when it came to mid-day blowjobs; she generally didn't bother to remove or even loosen any of her clothes--she knew I would take great delight in undressing her at bedtime. She would sometimes complain playfully on days where I was not satisfied with her talented mouth and wanted her body as well, that requiring her to remove clothing and lay down on my desk would put her behind on her work for the rest of the day. So most of the time I just let her suck me dry, marveling at the beautiful face wrapping its lips around my dick, watching her marvelous red hair bobbing in time with her neck.
I liked to rest my hand gently on her head, running my fingers through her hair sometimes, just to maintain connection to Simma the person while she was servicing me. She turned her eyes up towards me, knowing that I would be watching her yet not self-conscious. Our eyes met and gazed softly at each other. We weren't just a randy boss and his dutiful secretary; I felt like I had a relationship with Simma, and the way she looked at me sometimes made me think that she felt at least a little that way, too.
Simma was watching my eyes for another reason as well. She couldn't quite explain how, but she tells me that she can tell in my eyes when I'm about to cum even before she can feel it in my penis. She must be right, because just about the time I feel my nuts seize and start to churn out the spunk, Simma has switched from suck mode to swallow mode. The fast, focused sucking and tonguing is replaced by a slow, gentle movement where the sucks me deep, then twists slightly as the releases me, running her tongue along my length like she is wiping me down. It is almost always in this position that she receives my cum in her mouth. She will repeat this motion three or four times, collecting the sperm in until she feels the spasms end. Then she will release my dick, pool the whole load on her tongue, open her mouth briefly to show the spunk on her tongue, and then swallow it with a decisive, deliberate and incredibly sexy motion. She will open her mouth again to show that it is empty, and then she will take a moment to clean my softening dick, tongue licking it as a cat licks its kitten. While she does this I am usually reaching into the drawer for the breath spray; she knows where it is, but I think it's the least I can do to fetch it for her. When I'm too soft to bother with, she lets my dick fall from her lips and sprays her mouth with the minty freshness before leaning over and sharing a lingering kiss of appreciation.
This pattern may be predictable, but it never gets old. Today, however, there was a departure from the routine because Simma had something she wanted to talk about after the post-swallow kiss. "Do not forget... today all-secretary meet."
"Oh shoot, I did forget," I admitted. "With Ivana?" Simma nodded. Ivana was... the matron you might say of the secretarial corps. A house mother of sorts. She was one of the original secretaries when SI was founded--some say that the whole fucking-the-boss-is-expected thing was her invention, but there's no evidence to back that up. Now 40 something and three kids later, she could still turn heads walking into a room. She was the only female employee at corporate headquarters that did not directly report to a boss for whom she was expected to perform sexual favors. Instead, her job was to oversee the other girls to make sure that they were doing their jobs. If a girl wasn't doing a good enough job satisfying her boss for whatever reason, Ivana was the one to broach the subject. If a girl needed something to please her boss--a sex harness, a nurse's uniform or double-headed dildo--Ivana would get. And if a boss was getting too rough with his secretary and putting her in danger, Ivana would be the one to tell him to cool it or he would lose secretarial privileges. In short, she wielded as much power as my boss did, only in more subtle fashion. "Do you know what it's about?"
Simma shook her head again. "I do not, but other secretary tell me it is probable refresher training." Recruitment and training of secretary's was another of Ivana's jobs. She would find the most beautiful girls in the country and offer them jobs at SI; many had little sexual experience when they started. Ivana made sure her girls were up to whatever advanced kinkiness their jobs may require before placing them with an executive.
"Any idea when you'll be done?" I asked, thinking ahead.
"I not know. You eat without me, yes?" This was another way in which I was unusual. Most cooked for their bosses, then took mealtimes as a rare time off. Simma and I always had dinner together--and usually I cooked, for the simple reason that Simma's cooking was terrible. But I could cook some, and I hated eating along, so it was only natural in my mind that I cook for the both of us. When you're with a girl that's half your age and looks as great as she does, a little cooking is a small price to pay for the tail you get.
Simma went off to her meeting at 3. I hung around the office until 5:30 in case she returned, but she did not. I went home and started dinner, hoping she would be back to eat. When she didn't return I started eating. I was just finishing up at 7:15 when I heard the door open. I got up from the breakfast counter; we met in the middle and hugged. "Wow, that was a long meeting."
"Yes," is all she said.
