Defunctitude

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Saturday, January 14, 2012

Secretary

I hadn't seen the movie.  I placed a CraigsList ad strikingly similar to the one James Spader might have used to recruit Maggie Gyllenhaal as his new amanuensis.  I placed it in the "Erotic Services" section (RIP).  I got a number of responses, the bulk of which were crude, or simple.

One, however, was unusual:  an earnest, credulous reply from a young woman who forwarded her resume and a well written cover letter.  The resume was just a little... odd... though.  The names of the firms were all generic, and not one turned anything up when I googled.  The job descriptions were detailed.  She clearly was intelligent, competent, and well spoken.  I was a little worried:  my intentions in placing the ad had been purely dishonorable, but her response offered no evidence that she correctly divined my intentions.  Of course, the ad had been in the "Erotic Services" section....


We met for a coffee.  She was pale, delicate, petite.  Her dark hair set off her white face, the paleness of which was accentuated by her blood-red lipstick.  She dressed professionally, a formal suit.  We talked, obliquely, about sex.  Hardly about "office work" at all.  She hinted that there were things about her sex life that she had discovered recently, that she was amenable to suggestion.  But the transcript would show nothing explicit had been discussed, and when I replayed it in my head, I wasn't sure at all what we had discussed.

We made a date.  Agreed to meet in a hotel room a week thence.  And two hours later, she called me:  "I just want to be clear.  I won't do anything illegal, and I do not expect to provide you sex in exchange for money."

"Of course not," I said.  And it seemed to me suddenly I was involved with someone totally paranoid about the police.  Or crazy.  Or something else.

The week passed.  I gave her instructions:  she was to dress as she had when we met.  Under the clothes I had seen, she was to wear the same underclothes she had worn when we met, but which I hadn't seen.  She was to meet me in the lobby of a certain hotel.  She was to plan to be with me for several hours.

We kissed hello on the cheeks in a socially appropriate manner.  We adjourned to the room I had booked.  As the door closed, I pulled her toward me and kissed her.  She strained on her heels to reach my lips, as I bent my head toward her.  Her mouth was instantly, hungrily receptive.  I asked her if she would kneel for me.  She did.  I asked her to remove my cock from my pants.  She did.  I asked if there was anything she wanted.  She nodded demurely, and lowered her eyes to my cock.  I asked her to take what she wanted.

With a hunger I'd never seen before, and have never seen since, she devoured me.  Her mouth was warm and soft, her hands gentle but firm as she held my balls, licked and slurped and sucked and drooled.

"Stand up," I said.  She did.  Climb on the table, before the mirror.  She did.  "Remove all your clothes, save your panties and stockings."  She did.

"Now touch yourself."

Her eyes closed.  She leaned back into the mirror, facing me, as her hands found her cunt.  She rubbed her clit, first gently, then faster, then furiously.  She collapsed in a puddle on the table.

"Now suck my cock again," I said as I fed her my cock.  She drained every ounce of cum I had, swallowing deeply, holding my cock in her mouth for (literally) several minutes after I came.

We chatted.  I learned where she was from, where she'd gone to school.  But through it all she was just a bit - distant.  She had secrets she wasn't telling me.

We dressed, I handed her her compensation, and we walked out.  We pecked one another's cheek on the street, and said good-bye.