Amber's New Job Ch. 02

I ran one hand up and down his cock, playing with his balls with the other. He groaned, lost in the sensations. I had no doubt that the images running through his mind were not, despite my suggestion, he and his wife. Reminding him of his wife, however, had its advantages: it delayed his orgasm and laid on the guilt. It would make him more malleable. He would also crave, do anything, for my return visit.

"Jeez, Joey, you got balls like a stud bull. I bet you can do it three or four times a night. Your wife must stay very happy."

"Ohh, ohhh. Ohhhhhh..."

"Do you like it Joey, do you want me to continue?"

"Oh, yes...oh, yes...ohhhh, it's so...so good!"

"Do you like my breasts Joey? You were staring at them earlier. Do you want to see them?"

Amidst his panting he managed a whispered, "Yes."

"You need to ask nicely, say please Ms. Church, please let me see your beautiful breasts. I don't show them to just anyone."

"Please Ms. Church, please let me see your beautiful breasts."

"You are such a bad little boy Joey."

"Oh yes Ms. Church, I'm a bad little boy who wants to see your big beautiful breasts. Please Ms. Church, please show them to me."

I let go of his cock, eliciting a sharp inhalation of confused, frustrated, breath. I undid the top two buttons of my blouse and released the front clasp of my bra, exposing abundant cleavage but leaving my nipples hidden. He reached for them. I slapped his hand.

"Remember the rules Joey, no touching."

"I'm sorry, Miss Church."

"Should I stop?"

"No Miss Church, please don't. I'll be good."

"Promise?"

"Yes Miss Church, I promise. I'll be good."

"Double promise?"

"Yes Miss Church, I double promise."

I took him back in my hand. There was no longer a reason to delay. I started using long strokes.

"Do you like this Joey?"

"Oh yes, oh yes, Miss Church."

"Am I as good as your wife?"

"Better, much better."

His cock grew harder. He stared at my breasts licking his lips, whimpering. Then he jerked and I felt the cum start up his penis. As it spilled out of the top and spread over my hand, his butt shook the desk, the sound echoing in the empty office. He yelped. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... I'mmmmmmm... cummmmmmmingg!"

After he was done I took some Kleenex from my purse, wiping his cum from my hand. I left the pack on the desk. "Clean yourself up Joey."

At my request he pointed me to the ladies room. I returned ten minutes later, hands washed, blouse buttoned, hair and make-up perfect. After applying lotion, I put my gloves back on. His fly remained open, his limp dick exposed. There was cum on his pants. His mind was immersed in the last few minutes.

My voice was calm, professional, and assumed compliance. "Joey, I asked you to clean up."

"I'm sorry, Miss Church." He eagerly, hurriedly, sloppily wiped up his jism. His wife would be suspicious if she checked his clothes, but I doubt she did.

I looked at my watch. "Good, I have time to make my next appointment."

I handed him some wipes to clean himself and then his hand. "It was nice to meet you Mr. Damask. I hope you'll reconsider our offer. I look forward to doing business with you in the future. I believe I can let myself out. And remember," bringing a finger to my lips, "this is our little secret."

He was flustered, having trouble focusing. His mind was still on my hand flashing up and down his cock. "Yes, Miss Church."

There was a faxed acceptance of our offer upon my return to the office. Ron and Michelle handed me a glass of champagne and my next pay check featured a very generous bonus. Within a few months most of the city's major adjustors were asking that I personally deliver settlement proposals.

* * * *

It was a lovely Friday afternoon. Ron and Michelle had closed the office early. Denise and I were sitting with them by their pool, enjoying Ron's killer drinks. Six days before a bus owned by a nearby casino had flipped over in a single vehicle accident. The driver was drunk. Six women, all friends, were in the bus. Five were still hospitalized. Ron and Michelle had met with the sole passenger discharged by the hospital and the husbands of the five still there.

Ron explained. "It's down to us and one of the big downtown firms for the representation. Our record of success got their attention, but the downtown firm made some points by arguing it has superior resources and an unlimited staff."

"I told them we don't need fifty mediocre staffers when we have the two great ones and offered them the opportunity to meet you two," Michelle added. "They discussed it among themselves and agreed. The meeting is set for Monday evening in their hometown at a local hospital in which Willie owns an interest."

"They're right up your alley, Denise," Ron said. "Five red necks with middle-aged wives."

Denise smiled. "Only five, you couldn't make it a challenge?"

Michelle turned to me. "You should focus on the woman. Her name is Jean. She's not well-educated, but she smart, real smart, and clearly the group's leader. I got an unexpected vibe from her; she was attracted to me, but there was no come on. It was more like that she was trying to understand her own feelings.

"She and I only had a few minutes to chat one-on-one. She lives on a horse farm with her husband. She's thirty-three, he's twelve years older. Jean came to work on the farm in her late teens. At the time he was married; they had a girl – she's named Olivia. After the first wife died in an automobile accident Jean became a substitute mother to Olivia. They rode together, hung out all the time, the kid adored her. Eventually the Dad asked Jean to marry him, but the way she talked about it, it's not a love match. I suspect he was looking for a mother for Olivia and for Jean marriage promised a comfortable secure life.

"Jean's crazy about the kid. She showed me some pictures. A lovely girl, long straight blonde hair, a friendly upbeat face, sort of a hippie sensibility. Olivia has just gotten back from her first year of college and there's been some kind of falling out with her father. Jean was reluctant to talk about it and I didn't have the time to draw the details out, but whatever it is, it's eating Jean up. Something important is going on. Get her alone and find out what it is."

On Monday evening Denise was ready for action, sporting tight jeans, cowboy boots and hat, and a tee shirt that did nothing to hide her charms. The guys were transfixed; this was the kind of wild woman they dreamed about. I was slightly older that Jean's step daughter, but dressed to reflect the same hippie feel.

The first forty-five minutes were devoted to the firm's ability to support litigation. We displayed our mastery of the most complex and powerful litigation-support software, employing concrete examples of how we had used it to help build the firm's record of success. After the presentation we entertained twenty minutes of questions.

Denise, in her usual exuberant manner, announced that if we were going to be working together, we should find out how well we get along. The guys gravitated towards her. I caught Jean's eye and headed to the door. She followed.

There was no question that Jean spent her life outdoors. Her brown hair was practical, parted down the middle, and hung to her ears. Her complexion was ruddy – she spent a lot of time in the sun. There was no fat on her, but she was not built to walk down a model's runway, she was built to ride and rope a horse. Her face was open and honest and featured penetrating blue eyes.

We had left the room when Jean said, "You're about the same age as my step-daughter. You remind me of her."

"How is that?"

"She's smart and pretty, less serious than you. She's confident, like you. You made quite a presentation in there."

"Thank you. I've learned a lot working for Ron and Michelle. Michelle said you mentioned some problems with your step-daughter."

"Yes. It would be nice to talk to someone her age. Do you mind? Can you keep a confidence?"

"Yes, and I don't mind at all."

She looked me straight in the eye, evaluating me. She decided to proceed.

"Thank you. I went to work for her father when she was five. She was a wonderful child. After her mother passed she became my daughter in every meaningful way. I had no problems with her as a teenager, she had the nicest friends, dated some sweet boys, and was an outstanding student. She grew into a beautiful young woman."

She shared some pictures with me.

"She is lovely. Michelle had told me how pretty she is."

"That was kind of her.

"Olivia has just finished her first year of college and returned home to work for a local veterinarian. My husband, her father, was snooping and found some text messages on her phone from her freshman roommate. Well, long story short, they'd been lovers and had just broken up after a big fight. Her roommate was cheating on her. Her father was furious and ordered her to move out. She is living with a friend. He wants me to terminate my contact with her, but I don't want to. I'm not sure where my loyalties lie."

Here she stopped. Ron and Michelle had taught me to recognize when I was getting only part of the story. I chose an oblique approach.

"Sometimes people come to the office asking for advice. But what they really want to hear is that they're not in trouble, so they tell us only half the story, the part in which they did nothing wrong. So they get advice they want, but its useless since they left out the important stuff. There's something you're not telling me; tell me the whole story."

She thought for a second, took a deep breath, and started afresh. "I snooped too. After my husband told me what he found I started going through Olivia's texts and e-mails. The ones from the start of the affair were startling. The initial passion for her roommate, it enthralled me, but it also bothered me. I guess I had always believed that no one would ever be closer to Olivia than I. Reading about how she burned for her roommate, it freaked me out."

"Were you jealous?"

I had asked the right question. After a moment's hesitation she said, her voice certain, "Yes."

"Tell me about it."

"When I realized that Olivia was gay, or at least had dallied there, I thought about her in a new way. And when I did, I wanted to be the roommate, except," a gentle smile flickered on her face, "I would never mistreat her."

The ache, the passion in her voice, was intense. I stopped and turned towards her, taking her hand in mine.

"I know this is beyond my station, but it sounds like you're in love with Olivia."

Jean looked down and then back into my eyes. She said, haltingly, "Yes, I think I am. And when I think about it, I think I've always been in love with her."

The look of relief on her face was palpable. She had finally said the words.

"I don't know what to do."

"Have you told her?"

"No. I don't know how."

"Jean, what does she need right now."

She was quiet, but she knew the answer. "Right now, after the big fight with her father, she needs someone to hold her, let her know she's loved, that someone cherishes her. She needs someone who will listen to her. I'm not sure how to do it."

"Actually, I expect you do. Haven't you always done that for her."

I had guided us to a two office suite. The outer office featured several large comfortable couches. The inner office overlooked the conference room. Using the key Willie provided, I opened the door, led her to one of the couches, and turned on only one light. I wanted the room dark, intimate.

"Why don't you and I practice, we can role-play. I'll be Olivia. Tell me about what you learned from the texts you read."

Jean succinctly, intelligently, told me the story.

When she was done I said, "Okay, I understand. Please call me Olivia. What does she call you when she's upset."

"Usually she calls me Jean. When she is upset, sometimes, she calls me Mommy."

I leaned into her body, wrapping her arms around me.

"I'm glad you called Mommy. Is Daddy still mad?"

"Yes sweetie. He loves you, but he's having trouble with the news."

"How about you, are you mad?"

"No baby, not mad. I have to admit, I was surprised. I guess shocked would be a better word. I never suspected. Sexual identity seems so much more fluid with your generation."

"You're not that much older than me. Do you really feel like the generations are that different? That your generation didn't have these same kind of feelings?"

"I've thought about that. Sometimes I wonder, maybe we were just better at suppressing them."

"So why did your come see me when Daddy won't? Does he know your here."

"I can answer that, but I'll need to ask your forgiveness in advance. I'm not much better than your father. I also invaded your privacy. Your father printed out the texts between you and Shawana. There was an early one, one that you wrote. I noticed the first line, it was so full of passion. I was transfixed. I read it, I read it about a dozen times and then read some more before I could convince myself to stop."

"That was the glory and problem of what happened between us Mama. I'm attracted to

women and men. I guess there's no harm in telling you that now. I experimented with a few female friends in high school. But when I met Shawana it was like, well I'd like to say love, but maybe it was really just lust at first site. She had a lot more experience with women than I; she instantly recognized my desire for her. She had to loosen me up, but that was no problem, the beer flows pretty freely the first night on campus. She got a few in me, took me back to the room, and we tore each other's clothes off.

"The problem was that for her, I think, it was all about the sex and the fact that I adored her. She cheated on me constantly and liked showing me up in public, flirting with other girls and boys right in front of me. She was never there for me when I needed her. She'd never do what you've always done for me, what you are doing for me right now, holding me when I'm blue."

"I love you, Olivia."

I smiled at Jean, my eyes were grateful.

"If Dad knew you were here, what would he do?"

"Probably throw me out of the house right after you. Was Shawana pretty?"

"Yes, but not realy my type. She was flamboyant, big hair, tight clothes, lots of curves, expensive jewelry, always calling attention to herself. I got sick of it after awhile. She always had to be the center of attention. She is kinda the opposite of you. You're so beautiful, but you never make a big deal about it."

"You really think I'm beautiful baby?"

"Yes, Mama."

I kissed Jean's lip. It was not a child's kiss. Jean was confused, not sure how to respond. What was it? Fear, nerves, suppressed lust? I sat up; it was time to take control.

"I'm sorry Mama. I went too far."

"No, no, its okay." She paused, calming her nerves, and began again. "In your e-mails, when you told Shawana how you longed to kiss her, you were so ardent. The truth is, I think it made me jealous. It would be nice for someone to want to kiss me that much."

I leaned in again, this time finding her mouth slightly parted. When I ran my tongue along her lips, they quivered. She moaned.

I snuggled into her arms, kissed her ear, nibbled its lobe, and explored its recesses before whispering, "Do you think I'm pretty, Mommy."

"Oh yes Olivia, you're the most beautiful woman in the world."

When I returned to her mouth it was open and welcoming. I grazed her lips before slipping my tongue inside. I caressed her tongue. It was still unsure, not retreating, not responding. I played my lips against hers and it was soon clear the heat had started building. I stroked her sinewy arm.

"Mama, your body, it's so strong." I ran the flat of my hands down her torso. Her shoulders were nicely muscled, her small breasts firm, her stomach taut. My touch both calmed and excited her. I kissed her again, but now her tongue moved against mine. I placed her hand on my thigh.

"I want you to touch me."

She squeezed my thigh. Her hands were strong but knowing, something I should have foreseen in a woman who spent her life managing horses.

I kissed her again. This time her tongue responded, sliding and twisting against mine. For several happy minutes we made out and then I knew it was time. I unbuttoned my blouse, exposing my breasts. "Mama, please," then looking down at my breasts, as if too shy to say the word, "kiss me there."

Jean was flushed, but unsure.

"Amber, I mean Olivia, I've never done this before, I'm not sure I know how."

I placed one of her hands on my left breast. She squeezed, sending visible chills through my body.

"Jean, your hands are divine, you know just how to touch me. Don't worry, I'll show you some now. Olivia will show you the rest later. Right now my nipples are aching with need. Please take them in your mouth. Suck then. Lick them. Imagine they're Olivia's. Think of how long you've wanted to taste her, to taste them. Go ahead, you'll know how."

I guided her head to my breasts. Her tongue peeped from between her lips and then, slowly, her mouth opened and enveloped the thick dark areola of my left breast, sucking it while lightly running her tongue over it. It trembled in response, encouraging her; she continued licking, but softly. I wanted more.

My voice was husky, "You can do it harder than that, she won't break."

The pressure of her tongue increased.

One of Michelle's rules is that woman like us accept pleasure as a birthright, we don't scream, yell, and moan. However, tonight would be an exception; Jean needed the encouragement. I moaned softly and said, "Ohhhhhhhh! Don't stop! Just keep doing that! Exactly that! It feels so good!"

Jean, emboldened, became more aggressive, taking my breasts in her strong calloused hands, switching from one to the other. The years of hiding herself were falling away. It was time for me to take advantage. I pulled my breast from her mouth, kissed her gently and sweetly, and in a voice full of girlish need said, "Mama, I want you so much, please eat my pussy, please eat Olivia's pussy, Olivia's pussy is hot, Olivia's pussy needs your mouth."

I stood, undid my Indian print skirt and panties, letting them fall to the floor. Jean followed them down. I captured her head in my hands and brought it between my thighs. She was still unsure.

"My vagina, please Mama use your lips and tongue on me, explore me, all my curves and recesses, my intimacies, my smells, my tastes...., please Mama!"

At first hesitantly, then with more vigor, Jean licked my vaginal lips, slipped her tongue inside me, kissed my sex. As she had been with my breasts, she was gentle, almost afraid she might hurt me.

"That feels so good, but do it harder. Oh Mama, if a woman can handle a man's erection, she can handle whatever your sexy sweet intelligent mouth can deliver."

Jean picked up the pace and pressure. I held her head, directing her to where I needed attention, encouraging her with lusty low hard moans.

Jean was a natural. There was a prodigious flow from my sex as the pleasure of her mouth seeped through my body. "Oh Mama, you make me feel so good, drink my sweet juice, eat me, oh yes Mama, Mama."

Jean continued to work me with her mouth, her confidence growing in step with my burgeoning excitement. It was time to raise the stakes. "Do you love me, Mama?"

Jean pulled her mouth from my steaming pussy just long enough to say, "Oh, Olivia, I do, I do, I've always loved you."

I kept in character. "I love you too Mommy, lick my clittie, suck my clittie."

Although far from an experienced lover, Jean had become emboldened. She moved her mouth to my clit, sucked it into her mouth, and lashed it with her tongue. There was none of the hesitation she had shown earlier; she slashed my clit with strong powerful strokes.