A Prick For A Boss

George was a prick. Now, I do like pricks. I'd honed my skills since college perfecting my ability to make pricks happy. But George was the kind of prick I didn't like at all -- a skirt chasing, homophobic, loud mouthed, macho prick. George was my boss.

George was oversexed. But he was insecure about his sexuality. So damn insecure he went through secretaries and girls from the temp agency like Sherman through Georgia. He was always gabbing ass, getting his hands and face slapped. If he wasn't coming on to the current captive outside, or inside, his office he was bragging about the score he made the night before, or about the one that got away. As his assistant I was his usual audience.

George thought he was a wit. He considered any of this peers who were not as vocally virile as he was fair game for his humor. His constant theme was to question their manhood, flinging laughing accusations about their gayness, vitriolic toilet humor that turned my stomach. I usually was stuck hearing it all.

George was a slave driver. Anytime he could squeeze an extra hour or two out of you he did it. Like on a recent promotional tour to glad hand our division's major clients, George took me along, his briefcase bulging with work that could have waited for his return.

George was a cheap prick. We flew coach, doubled up in a cramped room and ate at the closest greasy spoon -- except when entertaining clients. But that's not how his expense account reflected the facts of the trip.

George was a looker. So I wasn't complaining about the accommodations. Had to fake falling asleep listening to one of his tales of conquest. When he came out of the bath, thinking I was out for the night, I caught him in a skimpy pair of bikini briefs muscling up in front of the dresser mirror.

George was narcissistic. Sneaking peaks at his performance it was clear to me that George was as much in love with himself as he was with the opposite sex. He came damn close to masturbating right there grinning at himself. I felt the only reason he didn't was because my presence, even sound asleep -- which I wasn't, inhibited him. He gave a last sexy wiggle, a hot bump and grind at his mirror image and, breathing a little heavy, crawled in bed, tossing the covers aside.

George was tempting. Hell, my cock had gone from withered to a blood pounding hard on just watching him. He rolled on his side, his back to me. I didn't move, couldn't. Wanted to. I waited, unable to drift off.

George wasn't asleep. I thought he was. I'd slipped onto the bed next to him. I let a hand fall on his side. He didn't shrug it off. I got bolder. My cock was aching. My hand moved down his side, across his hip, over that brief expanse of cloth onto his hairy beefy thigh.

George shifted slightly, giving a soft moan. I let my hand move over him again. This time I reached around rubbing through the brown forest over a nipple, down a taut fuzzy abdomen. With one more move I was cupping the front of those bikinis, feeling his cock swelling. I leaned and let my lips brush the curly hairs on his shoulder, then down on his side. Somehow I knew George was awake now. The knowledge didn't deter me. He'd had ample opportunity to move away -- or even roll over and punch out my lights.

George didn't move. I had to assume that was because George had no real objections to what I was doing. What I was doing now was now tugging that hard dick of his out of the bush at the top of those briefs, shoving the interfering material down under his bulging fur covered ball sack.

George turned, stretching, like a Tom cat, arching his back. I could really work that cock now. I was kissing lightly and licking on him as my hand stopped exploring and started manipulating that pulsing boner of George's. It was a perfect fit in my hand. His body was gently reacting, lifting up as I stroked down, pulling away as my hand slid up to squeeze slobber drops of semen from him. We lay there silent except for the rasping of our breath and the slushing sound of me masturbating my boss.

George's hand moved from between us to lie softly on my busy wrist. It slowly traced up my arm, across my chest and then down. He turned just slightly toward me reaching with his hand.

George was whacking on my willie. He'd found it, grabbed hold and was pumping it right along with my jerking on his cock. He still hadn't said a word. But, he was wide awake, looking right at me, then down. There were two stiff pricks, both pointing at the ceiling, two clinched fists holding on, pounding up and down, thumping against tense abdominals, two hot pink dick heads bobbing into view glistening in the faint neon glow that filled the room.

George looked back at me. There was a mixture of wonderment, apprehension and pure sexual desire swirling in his eyes. Our hands were moving faster, our breathing now punctuated with low moaning gasps.

George grunted and turned loose. He grasped his own prick moving my hand out of the way. I shifted and with a groaning cry started pistoning my own meat through that slick hand that had been working so diligently on my boss's cock.

George was watching our hands stroking wildly on those two rigid shafts of flesh. I couldn't take my eyes off his face. It was glowing and radiant. He didn't look at me again.

George caught his breath, his body went stiff. Then he started trembling like an aspen in a high wind. His hand was jacking, vibrating, whipping as his cum spewed out. It flew off the tip of his cock. One spurt was flung sideways splattering on my leg, two rocketed out to land back on his belly. The following small burst were sent every which way pelting like a hot steamy rain.

George pulled the pillowcase off his pillow. Using it he blotted up his body and his side of the bed. Without a word he turned on his back like he had been when it all started. It hadn't happened. I finished alone standing between the two beds shooting all over the floor.

George was a prick. I mean the same old ass hole boss was with me in the morning. There were subtle differences I noticed later. Back at the office he didn't quit making those offensive cracks and raunchy faggot jokes. I just noted they were not as frequent when I was around. I'd hear his horse laugh with someone in the office and know what was going on. He seemed to cool it, to a minor degree, with our female help.

George finally talked about it one afternoon. We were alone, working up a new presentation package. I must have looked at him the wrong way. He set me down and then told me that it wasn't happening again. He hadn't fired me because, even with what had happened, I was the best executive assistant in the firm. But, he wanted me to watch my step. For sure I should stop looking at him all moony eyed. He wasn't that way and for damn sure didn't want any clients getting that idea. And furthermore, he plowed ahead, I should keep my eyes and hands off the clients. He named two over which I had been having wet dreams, but had never made a pass at in any way. I got hot, told him I was happy with my life away from the office and didn't need him or anyone else from work to screw things up. It was a stupid thing I'd done. He didn't have to worry about me, him or clients. After all, he wasn't my type I lied.

George was surprised at my flare of temper. Actually apologized if he had come on too strong. Suggested maybe I just let my appreciation of good looks be a little too easy to see. I snapped I could keep it under control. We went back to business.

George didn't change things on our next trip, three weeks later. I wasn't sure how to take the fact that he still booked a single for the two of us. Turned out George had brought a lot of extra work again in that damn briefcase. He had me pushing papers until near midnight the day we arrived.

George stopped and yawned. It was infectious. I stretched, yawned and felt the file folders in my lap plummet to the floor. There I was scrambling around picking up my mess and George stands up and starts stripping, giving another big yawn. He told me we best call it a day. We did have a breakfast meeting with a client the next day. I stood up with the papers from the floor, shuffling, aligning them back into their folders.

George caught my look, shook his head in mock anger and growled at me to forget it. I calmly told the boss what I wanted to do -- give him a blow job. After all there he was again down to another pair of those damn bikini briefs again and I could see he wasn't as disinterested in what might happen between us as he was claiming.

George made sure I got it clear, he wasn't gay, but -- if I was offering. He sat on the edge of the bed. I joined him and leaned over. With one tug that big dick came bounding out right into my mouth.

George flopped back on the bed, his hands fingering through my hair. I nuzzled in and then let his cock glide almost out from between my lips. He wasn't quiet this time, letting out a gasping 'yes' when I first took him and then whispering over and over 'fuck yes' as I started bobbing on his tool.

George went ape shit when I stopped and went to licking and sucking on his dick head, worrying it, tugging back and forth with it captured between my lips. His chest was heaving and his legs were jerking, his feet off the floor.

George let an actual word of endearment for me pass his lips. "Go, baby, eat that cock. Suck that mother," he grunted between clinched teeth.

George was trembling, on the brink of an orgasm that I had created. I could feel his cock swelling, ready to burst. I shoved and twisted, ramming his hard shaft through my mouth, letting it thrust into my gullet. I let it ride high, slide out, moving my head faster and faster, bobbing and grunting.

George turned decent for once. "No, baby," he muttered. "Let me finish it." He wormed his hand between his body and my face, taking charge. I threw off my clothes and sprawled beside him, joining in again.

George was quivering and jerking. Spasms shook his body as he ejaculated. Just like the first time cum went splattering all over as his hand whipped up and down, back and forth. I was hit and felt a wet teardrop of cum run down my side. My own orgasm was close. I lay there, jacking and moaning.

George grabbed my hand. "Let me," he said. There was a fire in his eyes I hadn't seen before, a huskiness to his voice. Oh, hell yes, if he wanted to give me a hand job in return for what I'd done, I had no fucking objections.

George had more in mind than just a thank you hand job. He sat up beside me and took my throbbing cock in his hand. Then he did the unbelievable. He bent down, flicked his tongue across my dick head, spread his lips and --

George was sucking my cock. My boss, handsome, hairy, hetero George was gobbling away like I had a candy bar sticking out from between my legs. I'd had more sophisticated blow jobs. But this one was such a shock I just lay and trembled. He dug in and gave it his all. He was sputtering and choking when I lost control for a second and tried to impale his head. Even then he didn't quit. I'd been close on my own, just letting the sensations build. Now the pressure intensified. My head was pounding, my gut on fire. A dull, ache pulsed, growing sharper and sharper in my balls.

George was going all the way unless I stopped him. Oh how I wanted to just let him suck it all out of me. I wanted to cram his eager, warm mouth full of my hot meat and just let flow the river of cum that I felt building inside.

George wanted it too. Why else was he moaning 'uh hu' with every thrust of his neck that drove me deep between his lips. It wasn't fair. It wasn't safe. It wasn't my way.

George let me wrestle my cock away.

George watched intently as I lay beside him with my hand vibrating on my cock, my mouth hanging open, my eyes glassy wit the need for release. I'd barely started when the jism bubbled up and out. Steamy, thick and creamy it gushed out in globs, no comets into the air like his, just a pulsing flow of white lava.

George reached out, touching the tip of my cock, letting the final squirts of my cum run between his fingers. He rubbed his fingers together. He sniffed them. He let a droplet meet the tip of his tongue. He looked at me and winked. Told me I was a fucking cock sucking wonder.

George stripped the pillow cases off both pillows, cleaned up after us, tossed them in the corner, patted me on the shoulder, laid down and rolled over. Just like the last time.

George rolled back and poked me. "Don't get any ideas. That was just a reciprocal act. This isn't happening again. I've got too much pussy to handle, can't take on you too." He rolled back, away. The subject was closed. I moved to my own bed.

George was changing more and more day by day. He wasn't such a prick boss anymore. Asked instead of ordered. He even seemed to ease up even more on the horsing around with the female help. We kept a secretary for two months.

George was full of surprises. We took off on another client ass kissing visit. This time clear out to the coast. At the hotel we had a suite, dinner from room service. It was an excellent meal. This different George set my teeth on edge. I kept waiting for the punch line.

George rolled the table with our dirty dishes into the hall. Then he pulled out his briefcase. O.K., now I get it. Shit head has more work than usual for his prissy assistant to do. This had all been just a smooze.

George popped the locks, the lid flew up. His briefcase was empty except for a small box wrapped in blue foil. He lifted it out and handed it to me.

George was grinning. "Open it," he instructed.

George watched, a weird grin on his lips. I was fumbling around, full of questions, trying to make some sense of what was happening. I tore off the paper, opened the box. Glistening on black velvet lay a thick bold chain. An engraved circle of gold hung from the chain as I lifted it out.

George leaned in, laid a hand on my knee. "Read it."

George was a romantic prick. "You brought me out . . . " it said on the front. ". . . Let me love you." it said on the reverse.

George started to say something. I didn't give him the chance. I threw myself on him and covered his mouth with mine. That kiss was filled with two years of frustrated passion. We ended up on the floor, struggling, squirming, clothes flying. That's where we stayed. Once my hard headed boss makes a decision there is no going back.

George did have something else in that briefcase. He snaked it down off the table and pulled out rubbers and a tube of lubricant from the top inside pocket. I asked if there where any more surprises. He nodded as he hovered over me, his arms stiff, ready to plummet down and ravish my lips again.

George whispered softly, "We're on vacation, lover. The next two weeks are ours to enjoy."

George had lied about there being a client to meet with.

George made love to me.

George let me make love to him.

George was a prick -- my prick.