Trapped By The Man-Bear

Of course, her Mom had given her all the standard warnings about the dangers of big cities and men not buying the cow if they could get the milk for free (little did Mom know that that cow had gotten out the barn door a long time ago) and about Bosses who chased their secretaries around the desk.

Darcy didn't worry about Mister Hendricks chasing her around any desk. He wouldn't have to chase her, not for a minute.

She'd all but given up hope when the summons finally came toward the end of the day one Friday. Miss Garner, the Office Manager, a dour older woman in her forties, strode up to her desk, looking more pinch-faced than ever.

"Mister Hendricks wants to see you," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Go on. Hurry up."

"But see me about what?"

"How should I know? Get going, Winston."

Instinctively, Darcy tucked her pencil behind one ear and shoved her notepad into the back of her narrow skirt. She scrambled down the long row of desks, climbed the long stairs to the executive offices, down another long row of desks, toward the door to Mr. Hendricks' Executive Office.

She knocked. A buzz admitted her to the Outer Office where the terrifying Barbara, Mr. Hendricks' receptionist, guarded the way.

Darcy was about to speak but Barbara spoke first.

"Mr. Hendricks is waiting for you. Go on in."

She pressed another button. Something buzzed. Barbara gestured toward the large double doors.

Darcy pushed her way through.

Mister Hendricks' office was large but plain. Old wood floors. Big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the plant. Pictures of airplanes on the wall. A big propeller mounted behind his massive oak desk. That desk seemed very far away.

Behind it, Mister Hendricks was looking at some blue prints or something. He didn't look up as she came in.

Darcy closed the doors behind her, crossed slowly toward him, feeling her knees tighten. She had the feeling that she was walking funny as she approached the desk.

She stood by the front of the desk, waiting.

For a long time.

He knows I'm here, she thought. He just wants to see if I'll say something. If I'll interrupt him.

She just kept standing, waiting.

Finally, he spoke, still not looking up.

"Did you bring your pad, Miss Winston?"

"Yes sir," she replied, taking out her pad and pencil.

"Take this down," he said, and began to dictate a long and complicated memorandum. He spoke quickly, listing volumes, measurements, delivery dates, referring to papers and plans as he spoke. Darcy marked it all down.

Finally, he finished. The standard, "Sincerely, etc."

At last he looked up.

"Did you get all that?"

"Yes sir."

Hendricks stared at her for a few seconds. She could feel her heart racing. He held his hand out. She passed him the note pad. He began to page through it. Finally, he handed it back to her.

"All right. Write that up. Three carbons. Get it to Barbara by tomorrow at nine A.M. That's all."

"Yes sir."

Darcy turned to go, trying to keep her breathing under control. Was that all? She was almost to the door when she heard his voice again.

"Oh, Miss Winston."

She stopped. A thrill ran through her as she turned back.

"Yes sir?"

He made a slight gesture with one hand. She walked calmly (at least on the outside) back to the big oak desk.

"Is there something else, sir?" she asked.

Hendricks reached out and pressed a button on his intercom. She'd learn later that that was the button he pressed to tell Barbara that he wasn't to be disturbed—no calls, no visitors.

He stood and came around the desk, leaned casually against it.

"You know my regular secretary, Nancy, just quit. She went off and got married."

"I didn't know that, sir."

"I suppose you're on the look-out for a husband too."

"No sir."

"No? You already got yourself a fella?"

"No sir."

"Just not interested in men?"

"Just not interested in marriage. Sir."

Mister Hendricks stared at her in that same way that made her knees wobbly and her pussy grow damp. The silence started to grow longer. She felt the urge to fill it.

"You see, my fiancé died in the— "

"I didn't ask for your life story."

"I'm sorry, sir. "

"You want the job? As my personal secretary?"

"Yes sir."

"I don't want another Nancy. Forget about a personal life. I want you to be available whenever I need you. You want to know the job – I say do it, you say, it's already done, Mr. Hendricks."

"Yes sir."

"Do we understand one another, little lady?"

He stood up, walked toward her. She never realized quite how tall he was. She could smell his aftershave, feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

"Yes sir."

"Are you gonna play games with me? I don't play games. If you're gonna go that way, you can go right back to the typing pool. "

"No sir. No games."

"Back up a bit. Let me get a good look at you."

Darcy took a few steps back and stood up straight.

"How tall are you?"

"Five foot, eight."

"In your bare feet?"

"Yes sir."

"Take your shoes off. Let me see."

Darcy kicked off her pumps. Hendricks looked her up and down.

"Turn around."

Darcy spun slowly in a circle.

"No, turn around so I can see you from behind."

Darcy spun around again, stopping so that Mister Hendricks could get a look at her backside. Not for the first time she found herself wishing that she had a bit more back there. A bit more in the hips department, in the ass department, in the tits department. But no. She was nothing but a pale skinny girl with a pretty face. There was that hateful word again—pretty.

She heard Mister Hendricks moving, looked up to see him crossing to a large leather chair over against one wall. He gestured for her to follow.

He sat himself down in the big chair, lying back in it, his feet stretched out. Darcy stood in front of him, facing him.

"Sit down," he said.

Darcy looked around. There weren't any chairs nearby.

"No," he said, "On the floor."

Darcy stared at him for less than a second before she went down onto the floor, sitting down on her knees, her behind resting back on her calves.

"Not like that."

Darcy hesitated, then uncurled herself. As she swung her legs around toward him, she casually tugged her skirt up around her waist and thrust her legs straight out in front of her, spreading them slightly.

She was only wearing plain cotton panties under her skirt and cotton stockings that came up around her ankles—nylons weren't to be had these days thanks to the war.

Not too glamorous she thought, as she leaned back , supporting herself on both hands. Cotton stockings, cotton panties, and bare legs. At least her skin was smooth. She'd never had to shave her legs.

Hendricks stared at her, his eyes focused down between her legs.

"Do you play with yourself?"

"Yes," she said.

"Yes sir," he corrected.

"Yes sir," she replied.

"Well, go ahead and do it. The way you usually do."

Darcy could feel the flush of heat turning her face bright red. Not a blush of embarrassment, but the flush of growing passion. As she unbuttoned her blouse she struggled to keep her fingers from trembling. She tugged it off and let it fall. Her nipples were swollen painfully hard inside her brassiere. She quickly unsnapped it and pulled it free.

She pinched the erect nipple buds hard with both fingers, digging her fingernails in, feeling the painful sting as it rushed down into her pussy, already dripping wet. She wondered if Mister Hendricks could see the wetness staining her panties.

She reached down with one hand, rubbing herself between her legs on the outside of her cotton panties. Yes, they were damp. She pushed the fabric up against the moist parted lips of her pussy, massaging them with the tips of her fingers. She let out a low ragged groan.

She lay down flat, arching her hips as she unfastened her skirt and shoved it down over the curve of her narrow hips. She tossed it aside and then grabbed her panties around the elastic edge and shoved them down as well. She fumbled with them as she pushed them down around her knees, finally kicking them free.

Darcy leaned back again, finally spreading her legs. She could feel the cool air from the overhead fan brushing against the little nest of her reddish blonde pussy fur, making a shivering coolness against the dampness of her pussy flesh.

One hand returned to her swollen nipples while the other slipped down toward the now exposed lips of her pussy. Her fingers sought out the tiny glistening pearl of sensitive flesh at the crest of her love lips. It had already slipped out of its sheath, swollen with passion. Darcy had never heard the word clit or clitoris. Her sexual education, such as it was, all she really knew about a girl's body, beyond her limited experiences with Bobby, she'd learned through her own personal secret investigations.

She plucked at the tiny bead of flesh with her fingernails, feeling the thrilling jabs of pain and pleasure in time to the pinching of her nipple. She knew that her sex lips were spreading, that the sticky milky juice was forming inside her, trickling out.

Darcy grabbed her pubic hair, tugging on it hard, twisting it. She groaned, bit her hand to suppress the sound.

"Don't worry. Nobody can hear you but me," Mister Hendricks said.

She pulled her hand from her mouth, returning it to her aching swollen nipple. She twisted it, let out a low groan. She pinched with her fingernails, yanked harder on her pubic hair.

She dug her heals into the hard floor, arching her hips up, spreading herself wide open toward Mister Hendricks as she let out a scream of passion.

She thrust her middle and index fingers down past the sensitive nub and into her sopping interior, fucking herself as she arched up to meet her plunging fingers.

When Mister Hendricks had first utter the words, "Play with yourself," she'd had a brief qualm, wondering whether she'd be able to do it in front of another person, but she should have known better. The hard cold floor beneath her head, under her ass, the equally hard, cold gaze of the gray-haired man lying back in his chair, watching her, transformed this from a simple act of self-gratification into something else. A sex performance? An act of—of what? Surrender? Humiliation?

Whatever it was, it was driving her to heights of passion she'd never experienced before. Her fingers, even her whole hand, was soaking wet with her juices. She could hear the wet, sticky sounds as she thrust in, now faster and faster. She was sure that Mister Hendricks could hear the sound too.

Excited as she was, it wasn't taking her long to bring herself to that supreme moment. Her toes were curling and arching inside her stockings. Her breath coming in short, sharp audible gasps.

As she came closer those gasps turned into moans, then high-pitched cries. In the past, alone in her thin-walled apartment she'd always have to stifle the sounds that she'd make as she climbed toward climax. But now she simply let it all out.

Soon she was literally screaming as she thrust her hips up toward her thrusting fingers. She dug her fingernails into her bruised nipple, twisting it, pulling it away from her body.

Almost there. Almost—

And then Darcy came, her whole body shaking uncontrollably from the force of her climax. She thrust her fingers in all the way, feeling her internal muscles clench and spasm. She felt herself rolling up into the fetal position, pulling her legs up, her fingers still buried inside her, trembling uncontrollable, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Finally, as the spasms passed, she slipped her fingers out from inside. They made a wet sticky sound as they came out. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold.

Then she heard his voice.

"Sit up," he said.

Still shaking, she sat back up. A moment of fumbling as she decided on a position. She finally thrust her legs straight out, slightly spread, showing her pussy, her arms behind her to support her.

It didn't seem as if Mister Hendricks had moved an inch. She stared at his lap, trying to see if he had an erection, but it was impossible to tell.

"You're a bad girl, aren't you?"

It took her just a second before she replied.

"Yes sir."

"You have a lot of experience playing with yourself. How often do you do it?"

"Four or five times a week."

"Didn't your mother tell you that that was wrong?"

"Yes sir."

"Did someone fuck you? Is that how you lost your cherry?"

"Yes sir. My—"

"I told you. I'm not interested in your life history. Just answer my questions."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Have you ever had sex with a woman?"

"What? No, no sir. I've never had— I'm sorry. No sir."

"So you fuck men and you play with yourself. And you show yourself off, carrying on like a whore in front of men. That above cover it?"

"Yes sir."

"What do you think we should do about it?"

Darcy thought for a moment.

"Whatever you think best, Mister Hendricks."

"When was the last time you had a spanking, young lady?"

The breath caught in Darcy's throat. That was a question she hadn't expected.

"Um—I'm not sure. Not since I was a little girl. Sir."

"Well, little lady, I think there's the problem right there. Don't you agree?"

Darcy could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

"Yes sir."

"Stand up and come on over here."

Darcy swallowed and came unsteadily up to her feet. She started toward him.

"Take off those silly stockings."

"Y-yes sir."

She stopped, bent down and tugged off her socks, doing her best to keep her balance.

Now, completely naked, she crossed to Mister Hendricks, stood over him.

"Don't stand over me," he said.

Without a word, she got down on her knees.

He stared down at her, then slid forward on the big chair so that his knees were sticking out over the edge. He patted his lap. Darcy knew what he expected her to do.

Darcy climbed up over his lap, backside up. She slid forward, steadying herself by putting her hands down onto the floor. Her feet dangled in mid-air, her ass neatly positioned across one of his knees. As he shifted, she no longer had any doubts as to whether or not he had an erection. She could feel it pressing up against her. The hardness of it sent a thrill through her body.

He put his hand across her back. It felt dry and hot. He moved it back along the smooth curve of her ass cheek, down into the damp groove in between. He slipped his fingers briefly into that moist area, exploring the hairy slick tissues, then moved on down, feeling the firm flesh of her lower thighs.

He squeezed her thigh just below the curve of her ass.

"How many spanks do you deserve, little lady?"

Darcy was breathing fast. Despite her recent climax, she knew that her pussy juices were flowing again.

She took a deep breath before she finally spoke.

"More than I can stand! Sir!"

She couldn't see him raise his hand high in the air or see his broad hand come flying down, but she felt the first sharp impact as he laid it across one of her pale white ass cheeks.

She screamed. Her legs kicked up. The next impact followed almost immediately on her other cheek, faster than she'd expected. Too fast for her to draw enough breath to scream again. Instead a shocked gasp sputtered out.

Then the next impact came and the next, following just as fast. It seemed hard to believe that a man's hand could rise and fall so fast, hit so hard. At each impact her ass cheeks clenched, her pussy clenched, her whole body seized up, her whole body twitching as if multiple shocks were being sent through her, through her ass, through her pussy, through her nipples, down through her toes and all the way back up.

At first he'd alternate—left cheek, right cheek, left cheek. But soon his hand seemed to fall at random. She'd never know where it would fall. Right, right, left, left, left, right, left, right right—he even began to bring his hand lower down on the exquisitely sensitive flesh of her lower thighs.

"Harder," she gasped, "Harder, harder..."

He responded, bringing his hand down even harder, drawing louder screams from her. Tears of agony were running down her face.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. She lay sobbing across his lap.

"That was a hundred. That's enough for now. Get off."

Shaking, she slipped down off of his lap. Back onto her knees. As she leaned back, her ass came to rest on the backs of her heels. She hissed in pain at the touch.

He stood up, looking down at her.

"Wipe your face off. You look like a mess."

She looked around, saw her discarded panties. She used them to wipe her eyes and nose clean. She realized, even as she was wiping her face, that her panties were damp with her own juices. Having done her best to dry her face, Darcy tossed them aside.

"Unfasten my pants and take out my cock."

"Y-yes sir."

She leaned forward, unfastened his shiny black leather belt and then unbuttoned his pants. She unzipped them, exposing his shorts. She had a brief moment of indecision. Did he want her to tug them down or try to wrestle his organ out through the little opening?

"Pull them both down," he said.

"Yes sir."

She tugged his pants down around his broad thighs (muscular thighs, she noticed). The bulge in his shorts was huge, jutting out. She grabbed his shorts and tugged. For a moment, they became entangled on his cock. She had to pull them forward to free the organ.

It sprang free, bobbing out and swinging toward her as she pulled his shorts down.

The only cock she had ever seen had been Bobby's so that had been the sole standard for the size and shape of the male sex organ. But now those standards had been completely upended.

Bobby's cock wasn't quite six inches long fully erect and not much thicker around than a broomstick. But what stood out in front of her face now was over eight inches long and looked to be around an inch and a half thick or more, emerging from a thick nest of salt and pepper hair that covered Mister Hendricks whole belly. A thick ball sack descended beneath it. It was hairy too. The massive thickly veined organ had a broad mushroom head with a tiny mouth-like piss slit at the top.

She could smell the scent of the organ. Something like sweat, something like musk, something like something else that she'd smelled when she was making out with Bobby and that one time they'd had sex. Prick smell, she guessed. The same way that pussy had its own smell.

As she stared at it, it twitched, jerking up. The heavy ball sack also twitched and wobbled.

"Take it in your hands."

Darcy reached out and wrapped her hands around it. She realized with a weird thrill that her fingers, wrapping around it, didn't come meet on the far side. The organ was hot, hard like gristle, but the skin itself was amazingly soft. She could feel the blood moving beneath the skin.

"Kiss the head."

Darcy stared at the organ for a second, then moved her lips forward and pressed them against the broad head of Mister Hendricks' cock. Without thinking she slipped her tongue out and caressed the soft spongy head. If she was going to kiss the tip of someone's cock, she thought, it might as well be a French kiss.

As she pulled away she felt the thick shaft twitch. The tiny slit parted and a tiny droplet of pale milky liquid oozed out.

She stared at it for a few seconds then extended her tongue and licked it. It tasted vaguely salty. The shaft tensed in her fist, moving upward. She held it harder, pressing her lips against the cock head, rolling her tongue over it.

Suddenly she felt Mister Hendricks leaning over, his hands reaching forward, grabbing her under her arms.

In the next instant Darcy felt herself lifted up into the air. He held her up, staring at her, his face flushed, hard. Then he tossed her roughly onto the leather chair.