Her Game, His Rules
Her Game, His Rules
Amanda sat back on her heels and rolled her eyes.
"Do you think you could come sometime today?" she said, looking up at her boss. Amanda was on her hands and knees, clad only in the lacy thong Brad liked, and she'd been trying for over twenty minutes to get him off. Her neck was sore, her jaw ached, and all she wanted to do was finish this chore and get on with her day.
Brad sat on a long bench at the end of the bed, and continued to watch the oversized plasma screen mounted on the wall facing him. Amanda turned to see what was so interesting. Two well-endowed men were kneeling on either side of an obscenely busty woman on a chaise lounge. The sound was off, and the woman's mouth formed the predictable oooooh and aaaaah shapes as she pressed her breasts together and offered both men a nipple to suck.
Amanda turned to face Brad and sighed.
"Do you want to just finish this yourself?" she asked. "I'm going on vacation tomorrow, remember, and I really have a lot to-"
Brad took her head in his hands and pulled her back toward his marginally firm erection.
"Suck," he said. "It won't be much longer."
She shoved his hands away from her head and repositioned herself to continue. She rocked back and forth on her hands and knees and increased the attention of her lips to the head of his cock in hopes of moving things along.
Amanda hated these mornings. The frequency of the visits had inexplicably diminished the past several weeks, and she was too grateful to waste time wondering why. The dreaded mornings were rushed, tense, and demeaning, but she knew she had no one to blame but herself. Brad determined when she had to appear at his condominium, and the one time she tried to reschedule, he threatened to back out of their agreement. She'd begged him countless times to be more discreet in his communications with her, but knowing he could cause such discomfort seemed to make toying with her that much more attractive to him. Sometimes she would find a "don't forget our meeting" note scribbled on scratch paper and placed on her desk chair. Or, he might casually appear in the coffee room at the same time she was refilling her cup. He'd look at his watch and say, "Well, looks like it's about that time," and she knew she had to be at his place the next morning by seven-thirty. She'd push past Brad at his front door, change out of her work clothes; throw on the thong, red lipstick and hoop earrings he liked, and try to satisfy him in record time before they went to the office. Good thing he asked for nothing more than a blowjob, since having his cold little hands on her body would have been more than she could bear. Geez, what a reptile, she thought, while stealing a glance up at his face. It wasn't that he was bad looking, just not even remotely her type, and it sure would have helped to have some respect for the guy whose dick she sucked so often. Amanda sighed. She'd been tempted to call it off with Brad countless times over the past several months, but she was too close to the goal to give up now.
To take her mind off the pain in her neck and shoulders, she let her eyes wander as she always did to the color of the walls, the bedside lamps, the comforter, and the sheets on the unmade bed. His décor was so cliché he may as well have had naked women or martini glasses on his throw pillows. He'd obviously paid someone to decorate his place, and the resulting style didn't suit his personality at all. Then again, if he actually had a personality . . .
Brad came in Amanda's mouth. She spat his semen into her hand, jumped up and raced into the bathroom. She rinsed her mouth, washed her hands, brushed her teeth, wiped off the smeared red lipstick around her mouth, freshened her make-up, threw her lace thong and cheap hoop earrings into her "Brad bag," changed into her work clothes, grabbed her purse, and was in her car in less than ten minutes.