There’s no easy way to say this.
I fucked my boss last night.
He’s an older guy, mid-thirties maybe, who’s always implying that he has a huge dick. It would be obnoxious if he wasn’t so good looking, kind of a “daddy” type with a hairy-but-muscular body and a clean, sharp jawline.
Of course I didn’t believe it. No one did.
Jake—his name is Jake—is strong as hell, though, and he can lift me with one hand even though I’m tall. He found me fixing a light in the back and scooped me up in his hand and held me up to the light.
His fingers were right against my pussy, with nothing separating his hand from slipping inside me but my shorts and a pair of pink cotton goodgirl panties.
He stroked me with his middle finger. I’m pretty sure. But it was fun being up in the air like that, and I didn’t want to rock the boat, so I didn’t say anything.
When he dropped me down into his arms and winked at me, I still didn’t say anything.
When, half an hour later, I caught him pissing with the bathroom door open on my way to break, all I said was “wow.”
His dick was bigger than he made it out to be.
Not super long (although longer than my boyfriend’s and yes I have one), but even though it was soft, it was as thick as a can of furniture polish and hung out of his hand like a dead fish. (He’s always complaining it’s hard to piss “without help.” I know, right?
I stopped and blinked and said wow and looked and that’s my fault, I guess.
He was uncut (he’s Italian), and veiny, and his balls hung big and heavy and I realized that he doesn’t stuff his drawers after all; that big pouch under his zipper is all package, and it grew as I looked.
He gave me a cheesy smile.
“Wanna help?” he asked.
If this was a movie life would have cut ten minutes forward to him slamming me down on his desk and ripping my shirt off. Which is exactly what eventually happened.
But in real life I stumbled into the bathroom, my face burning, and he handed his big fat dick to me, which was even bigger in my little hands, and I stood behind him and held his enormous dick with both hands as he finished up.
I’m not turned on by that kind of thing, but it was kind of incredible to touch a dick that enormous and it felt very, VERY dirty to be touching my boss’ dick.
Afterwards he just let it hang out of his zipper as he backed me literally into a corner.
“You’re such a good looking girl, Amy,” he said.
I nodded. I was still blushing. I kept looking down at his cock.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I said finally.
His cock twitched.
“You want to go?” he asked. He moved aside, but kept his eyes on my body. It was a hot day, and I was in shorts and a crop top, and I know my legs are impressive and very tan, and I’m 19 and he’s 36 or something and I’m used to looks.
Hating myself, I nodded, and started to slide out from the corner.
He grabbed me and slammed me against the wall and kissed me, and I started to say “no, wait,” but his dick hardened and it poked me in the stomach like a harpoon and it was hard that it kind of knocked the wind out of me.
His dick was a fucking *monster*. I’m not even kidding.
So even though I was pissed off and a little scared, I reached out to touch it while it was hard.
And then he closed his hand over my hand and pumped his own cock with my fingers.
“I’ll fit in you,” he said, out of nowhere.
“The *fuck* you will,” I said. My boyfriend was a third the size. A THIRD.
He gave me a smirk. “I know what I’m doing, Amy,” he laughed. “You’ll open up and take every last inch.”
“You’re kind of making some assumptions, Jake. I’ve got a boyfri—”
And he tore my shirt down the middle. He put his hands on either side of my bollar and the buttons came off and then he ripped it straight down the middle.
Then he grabbed either cup of my bra and did the same thing, even though the hook was obviously in the back and I bet he knows how to undo one.
My breasts spilled out with a bounce.
…and so did the tissue I pack my bra with.
He shook his head. “Your tits are gorgeous. Don’t be ashamed that you aren’t fat like everyone else.”
I don’t know how to tell you how much this compliment worked for me. I would have thanked him, but he reached down with his big Italian lips and pinched a nipple between his teeth and sucked on my breasts like a nursing baby and I made a sound like “a-a-a-a-a-aahoh *god*,” and his poker dick stabbed me in the thigh, and his hand slipped down my stomach into my shorts, and his finger dipped in my pussy.
And then he used that one finger, in my pussy, to pick me up by my pussy, and cradle me in his big daddy arms, and suck on my stiff strawberry nipples, and carry me to his office like a little girl.
The boom, on the desk, papers everywhere, giggles and squeals, as he threw my shorts out the door and buried his big, sharp jaw between my legs and taught me the Italian word for tongue.
It’s “lingua,” by the way. Like the spaghetti.
I had what was apparently my first “real” orgasm holding on to the edge of his desk as he ate me.
I thought I’d come before, but I hadn’t. Not for real. My eyes rolled back in my head and I screamed and thought: “Oh. *This* is what cumming feels like.”
He told me afterwards that I soaked his face. Which was embarrassing, but he “drank me like a glass of wine” or something, and when he stood his dick was even harder, and even longer, and even thicker, and I found myself telling him to fuck me, really begging him to get inside me, unable to control how excited I was. I dripped all over myself. My thighs were slick with pussy juice and—I don’t know why this was so hot, but—there was a big, wide handprint on each one, where he’d held me down and licked me.
His dickhead was size of a jumbo egg. It hurt for a brief second going in, and then it was like… like I’d always been empty my whole life, and now I wasn’t.
“See?” he said. That damn smirk. “Every inch.”
He was right, of course. My pussy swallowed his cock, thick as it was, inch after inch until there was a big bump ABOVE my navel where his dickhead poked me from the inside. I was so wet there was no pain.
He reached down and tweaked his dick *through* my stomach, and I actually punched him in the chest with both hands, beat him, and screamed “FUCK ME.”
It was like the world’s worst itch, my need to be fucked.
He chuckled.
“You American girls are all so horny,” he said. He rolled his eyes.
And then he pinned my arms down at my sides and fucked me like his life depended on it.
I don’t want to go in for stereotypes, but there must be something genetic about certain kinds of men, because within minutes I was having my second orgasm of my life, and it didn’t really stop until twenty minutes later, when he grunted and shot a puddle of burning hot, clear, slightly spicy cum between my breasts.
“Where it belongs,” he explained, and rubbed his cum into my tits and nipples, which sounds gross but got me off as I sat on his lap, as he waited for his dick to harden up again, and carefully massaged his semen into my breasts and kissed me with his big soft lips.
He put three more puddles between my breasts before driving me home, and it wasn’t until this morning that I realized he didn’t use protection for any of them.
I texted him in a panic.
You wanna know what the bastard said back?
“I’d be honored for you to be one of the mothers of my children. You’re so pretty, Amy.”
And the next thing I knew I was meeting him after breakfast and, no, not fucking him, just kissing him on his lap in his stupid expensive car, and he made me cum sucking on my nipples and then fingered me as I called my parents to tell them I was taking a weekend trip.
He unzipped as I said “I love you, Daddy” to my dad, and slid me down onto his dick as I said goodbye to my mother.
“You need to understand that you have a *new* daddy,” he said, and asked me to tell him who as he made me come against his steering wheel.
“Daddy,” I screamed, ashamed and red-faced and completely serious. “You’re my Daddy now.”
It was dumb. It was sexy. It makes me wet to think about it.
I spent the weekend in his bed. No condoms, no meals other than cum and wine. He would spank me if I called him “Jake” instead of Daddy, he would fuck me to sleep at night.
And I went to work on Monday with a dozen, two dozen visible bite marks on my normally perfect skin. On my chest, on my thighs, on my exposed stomach. And I felt like a whore, and I looked like a whore, and he held me close to him and everyone, *everyone* at work KNEW.
And the other girls took me aside and were like “is he actually big?”
And I would nod and pretend to be holding a thick rolling pin of a dick, knowing I wasn’t doing it justice.
“Oh yeah,” I said.
“Would any of you ladies like to help me piss?” he asked. “It’s very heavy, and it’s hard to aim into your small American toilets.”
There was, as always a giggle.
But before I could follow him to the bathroom, another girl laughed and raised her hand.
He took her with him down the hall.
“You’re such a good looking girl, Alice,” he said to her.
I just put my hand over my womb.
Fuck me, I thought.
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Her Tongue 