The Devastator

Please consider this - if you wish to - a belated Christmas gift. My best wishes to all of my readers - regular, occasional and first time - for a happy and prosperous New Year.
       ~EA

I looked at my watch. I’d been at the Christmas party for less than an hour. It felt longer.

I drained the last of the champagne from the plastic flute someone had pressed into my hand when I’d arrived. I shook my head as I placed the empty vessel on the desk behind me. Plastic. As soon as my benefactor had walked away, I’d turned to the partygoer next to me – a flaccid solicitor in a straining Armani suit – and asked what was wrong with regular glass.

“Smashes too easily at these bashes. It’s quiet now. Wait until things get lively!” He’d bellowed into my left ear to make sure his answer carried over the music, the latest insipid creation of a television talent show. “Last year’s breakage bill was into four figures! It would have been cheaper to buy our own!”

The lawyer laughed boisterously. His stout face was already flushed with alcohol, and his greedy eyes crawled across every female that crossed his field of vision. “Anyway, they’re probably writing it off as part of our ‘Go Green’ campaign. Bio-fucking-degradable!” His elbow dug sharply into my bicep. “Fuck carbon footprints. Just think of all the washing up these things will save!” And he’d laughed raucously again.

I’d smiled politely, muttered something about needing to find the toilets, and then distanced myself from the caustic tang of Givenchy blended with stale sweat.

I was there by happenstance. I’d done three months’ consulting for the company, and I wanted to make sure they had my invoices to process before they closed down for Christmas. The celebration was up and running by the time I arrived. Drunken paper-pushers as far as the eye could see, most of them toasting their end-of-year bonuses while they gorged themselves on Bollinger and caviar. I’d done my best to decline the invitations to stay, but in the end, it was easier just to accept the champagne, and find a non-descript corner to drink it in. Besides, I had nothing to rush home for.

I looked across the office and spied some more champagne, standing in buckets of melting ice. I walked over and laughed quietly to myself. The buckets were plastic too. Bio-fucking-degradable? Were they destined for an inner city compost heap as well? I cracked open a bottle and poured it into a fresh flute, watching the cityscape through the big windows as the pale liquid bubbled and foamed in my grasp. Ten thousand pinpricks of silver and gold in the night, some of moving, most of them still. Static. Dormant. Like me.

I peered into the darkness. Did I have a doppelgänger out there? Was he standing at one of those lit windows, looking out into the blackness as he poured expensive alcohol into a plastic beaker? What was he thinking as he looked back at me?

“Are you guarding that for yourself?”

I turned towards the sound of her voice. The first thing I saw was her eyes. At first glance, they were blue, but when she tilted her head inquisitively to the left, they morphed to green. Whatever shade they were, they pierced me with their directness. Her auburn hair cascaded down around her face and neck in a helter-skelter of curls that was almost too casual to be accidental. The fire in her locks clashed beautifully with the pure white of her blouse. I couldn’t stop my gaze from falling lower. The tight black skirt stopped just above her knees, and it was impossible to tell whether her slender calves were sheathed in black nylon or silk. Her legs were definitely worthy of the latter.

I willed myself to break the spell, dragging my eyes back to her face. It didn’t help much. She was an attractive woman. When I looked at her, my thoughts were instinctively of warmth and passion. Her high cheekbones were almost Nordic, and her mouth was full and sensual, curled into a smile that was vaguely cruel. Was she enjoying my discomposure? Her skin was flawless, and the lines that gathered at the corners of her eyes suggested a little experience of life, and not much else. How old was she? In her 30’s? 40’s? Who cared? She was delicious, and my body, my senses yearned for her in an instant.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The woman nodded towards the bottle of Bollinger in my right hand. “Were you planning on drinking that by yourself, or are you willing to share?”

She looked familiar in an ‘I’ve-passed-you-in-the-corridor’ way. I tried fitting her to a role. PA to one of the senior executives? One of the smaller department heads? I mentally shrugged. “I’d be more than happy to share it with you, er…” I raised my eyebrows and waited for her to fill in the blank as I tipped the bottle towards her proffered flute.

“Nina. Nina Sullivan.”

The name meant nothing. “Eric Andrews.”

“Well, cheers, Eric, and a Merry Christmas.” She raised her glass towards me, then brought it to her full, red lips. She swallowed some champagne, and her eyes closed with genuine pleasure.

“First of the night?”

She nodded. “I don’t plan on making it my last, though.”

“So how come you’re late to the party?”

“Oh, the boss here can be a pedant when it comes to getting the most from the staff.” She smiled. “Some of the staff, anyway.”

“I admire your work ethic,” I said, casting my gaze around the office. “Most of your colleagues seem to have stopped worrying about work a while ago.”

She shrugged matter-of-factly. “I suppose the boss didn’t need them.”

“And is the boss done with needing you?”

Her mouth curled up again, the same hint-of-cruelty smile I’d seen the first time I looked at her. “You could say that.”

“That’s good.”

Nina finished her champagne. I refilled her flute without waiting to be prompted. “You don’t work here, do you? I know that I’ve seen you around, but you’re not one of the regular grunts.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been doing some consulting on the Lanzerac account.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Not going. Gone. I’ve just finished.”

“Ah.” She looked thoughtful. “So how did it go?”

I watched her scrutinising me, trying not to wonder what it would be like to kiss her full on the mouth, slowly, taking my time. The warm musk of her perfume was intoxicating. “It’s hard to say for certain at this stage,” I said eventually.

She nodded. “Circumspect man.” Now it was her turn to scan the room. She stopped abruptly, her gaze narrowing. I turned to see where she was looking, but saw only one of the senior executives deep in conversation with a young attractive blonde. “You should be careful,” she continued. “Discretion’s a rare quality in these parts. The natives view it as witchcraft, a black art practised only by pagans and deviants.”

“What will they do if they uncover my deviancy? Burn me on a pyre built in the centre of the boardroom?”

She smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s not the pagans who should be burnt at the stake.”

“A hint of bitterness?”

“Perhaps.”

“First-hand experience of someone with loose lips?”

She hesitated, smiled wryly. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I’ve always known how to keep a confidence.”

She looked over me, head to toe and back again. Her piercing blue-green eyes held mine inexorably.

“Yes, I imagine that you have.”

Three glasses of champagne later, Nina led the way to the lifts with an almost imperceptible gesture of her head, and a hushed “Come with me.” I followed obediently, trying not to seem too eager, fighting to keep my eyes from lingering over the taut globes of her arse, and failing miserably on both counts.

Inside the lift, she pressed a manicured finger against the button for the top floor. The doors hummed shut. Top floor. As far as I knew, the only accommodations up there were the boardroom and the senior executives’ offices. I watched the digital numbers flicking upwards. “You work up here?”

“Oh, I’m far too modest for the top floor.”

“You never did mention what you do here.”

“I know.” She glanced at me. “Why? What do you think I do?”

“Project leader? Litigation department? Head of human resources?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Would it bother you if I confessed to being a humble secretary?”

“Why should that bother me? Especially when there’s nothing humble about the job to begin with.”

She shrugged, and said nothing.

“So your reason for bringing me up here is…”

Nina answered without diverting her gaze from the floor readout. “Because we need some privacy.”

“We do?”

She smiled her demi-cruel smile. “We do.”

The lift came to a dampened halt. I followed Nina out into the quiet corridor. I’d been up here once, during my first week. I remembered thick carpet, heavy doors, the smell of leather and the sound of muted voices. Only the noise of cautious speech was absent now. I found the silence more unnerving. Movement at the corner of my eye snared my attention. I turned to see a video camera mounted just beneath the ceiling. It pivoted languidly on its bracket as it tracked us towards the double doors guarding the boardroom.

“Don’t worry,” Nina said. “They’re motion activated. Besides, a crate of champagne always finds its way down to the security guards for their version of the office party. They’ll be too busy enjoying themselves to even notice us, let alone care what we’re up to.”

“And what are we up to?” I’d never been very good at reading women, but even with my meagre talents, I felt reasonably confident I knew the answer already, even if I could scarcely credit the unfolding of events. Even so, the little boy inside me wanted to hear her say it aloud.

Nina didn’t even give me the satisfaction of a backward glance.

“Here we are,” she said, sotto voce, as she pushed open the double doors. I stepped into the dormant den of pinstripe-wearing dragons. High-backed leather chairs flanked three sides of the long rectangular table. Only the single seat at the end of the table had arms. Beyond, the table, the floor-to-ceiling windows looked out spectacularly across the shimmering city.

The boardroom doors closed with a solid clunk behind me.

Nina’s teeth gleamed in the quarter-light. “Alone at last.”

“So it seems.”

She walked over to me, and pressed her warm mouth against mine. When I hesitated with my response, she broke the kiss to look at me questioningly, even angrily.

“You don’t find me attractive? Desirable?”

“You have attractiveness and desirability in abundance. I’m just trying to trying to figure how we got here so … quickly.”

“You want me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She ran her fingernails across the front of my shirt, raking my nipple, making my knees tremble. “And how do you account for your desire?”

“I … don’t. It’s instinctive. I saw you and I wanted you.”

She stepped back against me. “Then just accept that that sort of attraction can work both ways.”

I returned her kiss without hesitance this time, our mouths waxing and waning deliciously as the softness of her body pressed enticingly against mine. I slipped my hands along the curve of Nina’s spine and onto her arse. I cupped the taut cheeks, gripped them, pulling her loins firmly against mine. She chuckled wantonly, urging herself against my erection. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so hard so fast.

Passion became urgency, became desperation. I turned her around, walked her swiftly backwards to the boardroom table without breaking our kiss. Her buttocks pressed firmly against the solid wood as I reached up to cup her full breasts. She pulled at my jacket, dragging it down my arms, tossing it away into the gloom. She set about the buttons on my shirt just as vigorously. There was a series of taps as one button bounced its way across the varnished surface of the table. She broke the kiss to press her mouth against my naked chest, gnawing softly on my flesh as I drew the hem of her skirt up over her thighs. My fingertips brushed across the thicker bands of her stocking tops and found the warm naked skin above. She gasped as I stroked her thighs from outside to in, gasped again, longer, louder, as my fingers pressed the already damp material of her panties against her sex.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, kissing me again as she wrenched at my belt and then at the fastenings of my trousers. As she pushed my trousers and my shorts down my thighs, my fingers found the waistband of her panties, and without a thought for propriety, I snapped it on both sides of her waist and scooped the torn material from between her thighs.

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, as her mouth slipped away from mine.

She looked down at me as she held my cock, stroking me, rolling my foreskin back and forth intently. She drew my cockhead towards her. “Don’t make me wait,” she whimpered. “Don’t make me beg.”

I thought about it. I really thought about pressing her back against the desk and then taking my time with my fingers and my lips and my tongue; getting her ready, making her beg me to fuck her, over and over again. And then the tip of my glans found the wet heat of her sex, and suddenly I was in her, thrusting schoolboy hard, frantic to immerse myself deep inside her oiled velvet as though it were the first time I’d experienced the delicacy of aroused cunt.

She eased herself back onto the table until she was lying flat the polished surface, her buttocks barely protruding over its edge. She pulled her skirt up around her waist, and then her legs came up to my hips, her calves entwining themselves behind me.

“All of you!” she cried softly. “Please!”

I held her waist and pulled her into me as I pressed forward, until there was nothing left of me to give to her. I could feel the tightness of her cervix against my cockhead, the heaviness of my balls against her upturned arse. She was so delectably tight. It didn’t matter to me that we’d forgone the precaution of a condom. I was beyond caring. I was drunk on the excitement of being with this woman, on the sensations of being deep inside her.

I’d evidently paused too long for Nina’s taste, because she reached forward and gripped me behind the hips, and her nails sank painfully into my flesh. “Fuck me,” she hissed. “Now. Hard.”

I began to thrust in earnest, long even strokes that made her gasp as I entered her fully, whimper as I withdrew to the point where the flared head of my cock was barely in contact with her sex. I reached forward to her blouse, gripped the two halves and tore them apart. Nina’s eyes fluttered closed. I cupped her breasts through the lace of her bra, and then dragged the cups down, exposing her breasts, revealing the roseate nipples peaked with excitement. I took them between my thumbs and forefingers, rolled them delicately and then squeezed until she shivered and cried out.

She was two women. One – the one who raked her nails across my body when she came, who sank those same talons into my flesh whenever my pace flagged too much; the one who pressed me down into the chief executive’s leather chair, pinned my hands to my side and rode me to three shuddering orgasms – was a leader, used to dominating, taking charge. The other woman – the one who later knelt in that same seat and offered herself to me, who begged me to grip her wrists, entwine my fingers in her hair and fuck her until she screamed, the one who begged me to let her feel my come erupting inside her cunt and then her ass – she was the submissive half of the duo, the one who ached to be taken roughly, to be used for pleasure. And she switched so easily between personas. I wondered if it would ever be possible to become jaded with such a woman sharing your bed.

We finished as we started: Nina sprawled naked across the boardroom table as I pistoned into her. When I came, my seed spurting into her in scolding pulses, I cried out louder than she did.

“You are devastating,” I gasped eventually.

Nina laughed. “It’s my goal to always be devastating in the bedroom. This is the first time I’ve ever been devastating in the boardroom, though.”

I laughed too, and then I kissed her. My eyes had long since adjusted to the light. Nina’s naked curves glistened with perspiration. I ran the tips of my fingers through the dampness between her breasts, looking towards the oversized windows. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that we were being watched. You could buy a night vision monocular for a couple of hundred pounds. Was my doppelgänger still out there, watching me? What was he thinking now? What would I have been thinking?

“I’m not really a secretary,” she said. “I never have been.” Then she smiled that wicked smile of hers. “Except in the bedroom.”

“Then who are you?” I asked.

She kissed me again. “Let’s just say that my philandering husband is going to have something else to think about when he learns what I’ve been doing in his expensive chair.”

 
Tags: Office Sex, Sugasm Top 3

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