5 comments/ 39278 views/ 10 favorites New Boss (for Gareth) Ch. 01 By: LeanneSinclair The office, Friday afternoon fading into evening. The sound of the cleaners in the corridor. You stare at your computer screen. The report has to be finished before you leave. It's for Ms Sinclair. You look across the open-plan part of the office to her own separate glass-walled room. There she is, her pale face lit by the light of her screen. She is tapping away at the keyboard. She was first in this morning and she will be the last to leave tonight, as always. Leanne Sinclair, new Managing Director of UK Operations. High flyer, troubleshooter, mover and shaker - and ballbreaker. Brought in four months ago when Head Office had finally tired of the more ... well, "relaxed" style of her predecessor, good old Mike. Good old beery-breathed Mike with his cigarette breaks, his three hour lunch hours, phones routed to voicemail on a Friday afternoon, works trips to the dog track, radio constantly tuned to whatever sport was going on. Good old Mike. Good old Mike who tried to put one piss-up too many through expenses and was sent packing. Ms Sinclair promptly sacked the half dozen poorest performers, instituted rigorous new accountability policies, pushed up profits in her first quarter by 20%, expanded the business with new accounts, generally made a name for herself and scared the crap out of everyone she came into contact with. Not that she ever shouts at anyone. She is far too much in control to raise her voice or indeed show any emotion at all. Always calm, always in control, issuing precise instructions in a quiet but firm voice with a hint of a northern accent. Works harder than anyone, that's for sure. Attends company social functions alone, drinks a couple of glasses of the best wine going, makes polite small talk with the more lowly minions and more intense conversation with her senior staff, then leaves in a taxi before it gets rowdy. No wedding or engagement ring. Because the thing is, you think to yourself, she's a looker. Mid-thirties as far as you know but could pass for younger. Small, petite. Pale skin and dark blue eyes behind the glasses. Always immaculately dressed - today in a very expensive-looking crimson silk blouse and knee-length black skirt over black tights or stockings. You think probably stockings. Black patent high heels. Simple gold chain round her neck. A diamond ring on her right middle finger. Long, thick dark hair which is the only thing about her that is not under control. However she styles it, a few strands always escape and have to be constantly pushed away from her face. Oh, and then there are her breasts. Impossible not to notice, and the tailored, fitting blouses she wears do little to conceal them. Large, full, firm breasts almost out of proportion to her small, neat figure. Every bloke in the office - and maybe some of the women, for all you know - regards her with a mixture of fear and lust, like schoolboys with a sexy but strict teacher. Despite all the after-hours banter and speculation about her, nobody - NOBODY - would for one moment consider trying it on with her. Inconceivable. A new email shakes you out of the daydream. It's from her. Shit, shit, shit. Half an hour has passed and you have done nothing. You open the mail. "Gareth - please come to my office. LS" Oh no, this is it. Time to face the music. You walk over to the office and knock. "Come in." You enter and stand in front of her desk. It really is like being at school. Your heart is sinking, your mouth dry. "Gareth - you know what this is about." It is a statement, not a question. Looking up at you over the thin black rims of her glasses. "The report, you mean? It's nearly done, it has been more complex than I thought. You will have it first thing Monday morning, I can commit to that." "Not good enough, Gareth. My own report to the Board is needed for Monday midday, I intend to write it over the weekend. And I can't start that without the data from your report. You see the difficulty." Again, not a question. She continues. "But it's not only the report, is it, Gareth? Your performance since I took over has been barely acceptable. You narrowly missed the first phase of downsizing and I am asking myself whether that was the right decision. This cannot continue." "Ms Sinclair, things have been difficult at home, I am aware that I have fallen behind but I promise you I am doing all I can ..." She interrupts: "Not good enough. If you have personal business to attend to then you take annual leave, do what you need to do, and return to work fully focused. Your personal life must not impinge on your work." Then a very slight mellowing of tone. "You're not a bad person, Gareth, but you're weak and poorly focused. It's starting to be a problem. I think that you have potential but I'm not sure how best to realise it and this can't go on much longer." "Yes Ms Sinclair," for all the world like a 13 year old boy. "But while I think about how best to deal with you, there's one thing you can help me with." "Anything you say, Ms Sinclair," you say, glad of an opportunity to please. "Are your hands clean?" You nod. She stands up and turns her back on you. "My shoulders are tense, it's beginning to affect my work rate," she says. "Please would you massage them, Gareth?" You are stunned, excited and frightened all at once. This must be the closest anyone in the office has got to Ms Sinclair. Tentatively you place your hands on her shoulders and start to squeeze and knead. You're not sure if this is the right way to do it and pray it's not going to piss her off even more. "Good, Gareth. A little harder, please." You oblige. You can feel through the silk that her muscles are toned. Her bone structure is small and delicate. You can feel where her bra strap crosses her shoulder. At that thought you have to stop yourself from breathing more heavily. You are so much taller than her that you can look down over her shoulder to where the pale skin of her chest starts to disappear under the crimson silk. Careful, Gareth, you think. You make sure that you do not stand too close behind her, so that in the unthinkable event of you starting to get aroused she will not notice. You look down again. It looks as if her nipples are starting to get hard, showing through the silk. Don't even think about it, Gareth! "You look at me, don't you, Gareth?" "Er ... Miss?" "You and the other men, I see you looking at me." "No, Miss!" "Gareth, I'm not stupid. In fact I'm probably the most intelligent person you know. I know you look. What do you see?" "Well, Miss ... erm ... I see a very successful respected manager. You always seem to have everything under perfect control. And ..." you hesitate, "... and also of course a very attractive woman ..." Oh shit, was that a mistake? She turns round. "Sit down, Gareth," she indicates her own executive chair. You sit. "Let me tell you a bit about control." She leans close over you, her hands on the arms of the chair, her face inches from yours. Somehow - how? - a button on her blouse has come undone and you can have a clear view of her cleavage and of a black lacy bra holding those big pale globes. You can hardly breathe for tension. She speaks quietly but with real feeling. "When I started out in this business I was 22, straight out of college. I had been a brilliant student, first class honours, commendations, president of the Union, dissertation published in an international journal, the lot. In the USA I would have been called the Girl Most Likely To Succeed. And I joined my first company full of drive and hope and ideas. And I thought they looked at me and saw a talented, ambitious graduate. But what they saw when they looked at me was a pretty little girl with great big tits." You are shocked, speechless. At the word "tits" you just can't help staring straight down her blouse. Please God let her not notice. She continues. "So I put up with being patronised and ostracised and talked down to and passed over and leered at and getting my arse groped at the Christmas party because to start with I didn't know what else to do. And over a couple of years it dawned on me. I had to be 10 times as good as any man, and work 10 times as hard, to get the same recognition. So to get more recognition I had to be 20, 30, 100 times better and more hard working. So that's what I did. And I stopped being a scared little girl and blushing at dirty jokes and sitting on the edge of a group of lads in the pub and not minding them staring at my tits. And I took control, became like I am now. And gave nothing away. And from then on it was success all the way - as long as I remained in control. And I like it that way, and it will stay that way because I know that if I take my eye off the ball for one moment, I'll be letting in some lazy old pisshead - or "good bloke" as you no doubt call him - like Mike. I've seen too many Mikes. I'm better then them." You have no idea what to say. She stands up in front of you. "You were of course looking down my top while I was speaking just then," she says coolly. Oh hell, you think. "No Miss ..." "Of course you were. Now here's a little test for you Gareth. Can you handle a reality of which you have only ever dreamed? I need people who can deal with real situations, not fantasists." She closes all the blinds on the glass partition walls. The outside world disappears, leaving just you and her and her office. "Er ... yes Miss, I'll try," you stammer, not having any idea what is happening. Unbelievably, she is unbuttoning her blouse. She takes it off, fold it neatly and places it on her desk. You are simply dumbstruck. What mad game is this? Are you dreaming? She stands in front of you. She is wearing a black lacy plunge bra. Her breasts jut proudly out, big and firm on her slim, toned torso. Her pale, creamy cleavage is magnificent. Through the lace her nipples are clearly visible. Oh my God, you think, what is happening to me? "This is reality, Gareth. Undo my bra, please." She turns round. You stop your hands trembling just enough to open the clasp. She slips the straps off her shoulders in a matter-of-fact way as if undressing for a shower, takes the bra off and places it on the desk. She turns to you and stands with shoulders pulled back. Her breasts are exposed in all their glory. Big, full, firm yet heavy. Large protruding pink nipples, the size of thimbles. You are virtually paralysed with a combination of fear and arousal. Nothing could have prepared you for this. "See Gareth, you were trapped in your fantasy about me. I'm releasing you into the real world. It's a better place, I think you'll agree." It makes no sense but you don't care. You are trying to relish the moment without thinking too much about the implications. Is it a set up? Is she going to accuse you of something? Or maybe she's just horny? Hard to think of Ms Sinclair exhibiting as simple a human desire as lust ... You are still in the chair, she steps towards you. "I know you want to put your hand up my skirt," she says. "Go ahead. It's OK, this isn't a trap." She must have read your mind. Trembling, you reach out one hand and put it on her inner thigh just above the knee. Slowly you work your way up, out of sight under her skirt. Lace stocking top - you were right about that. Lacy suspender - not hold ups then. Smooth bare skin above the stocking top. No panties yet - thong maybe? Up ... up ... then hair, soft folds of warm moist flesh. No panties at all then. Oh God help you, you are touching Ms Sinclair's pussy. "Why do you look so shocked, Gareth, what did you expect to find?" she says coolly. "I am a woman, women have cunts, therefore I have a cunt. A woman's cunt gets wet when she is sexually aroused. I am sexually aroused, therefore my cunt is wet. Basic human biology, Gareth." You cannot move or speak. "I need more than a shoulder massage to relax me today, Gareth, and I'm going to ask for your help again. But first we need to take care of the disciplinary matter for which I first called you in." You nod dumbly. How can he be talking about this when she is half naked and your hand is on her pussy? "Now we could go down the tedious route of involving HR, me issuing a first written warning, review after six weeks and all that stuff. Or you agree to accept a one-off disciplinary measure from me and we consider the matter closed. Do you?" All you can do is nod. "Good. In that case I am going to administer a corporal punishment. Please remove your trousers and underpants." You blurt out: "Corporal punishment?" "I am going to spank you, Gareth. Take off your trousers and underpants and bend over the desk, hands and elbows on the desk top. Please do not look round or cry out." Looks like you have no choice. You turn away from her as you drop your trousers and pants, as your cock is distinctly hardening. You bend over and wait. THWACK! How can such a petite woman be so strong? THWACK! Her small delicate hand hits your buttocks like a bullet. THWACK! You can feel the ring on her finger digging into you. Oh please don't draw blood! THWACK THWACK THWACK! Each one stings then throbs through your arse cheeks. You can feel blood rushing to your buttocks, they feel hot and must be bright red. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Tears in your eyes. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! And your cock is now absolutely rock hard. "That's enough, I think," she says. "Turn round." You can't avoid this - you turn round and from beneath your shirt your raging erection points insolently at her. She allows herself the hint of a smile. "Well well, have we finally discovered your area of excellence, Gareth? Credit where it's due. That is a most impressive cock you have there." "Thank you Miss," you mumble. It sounds absurd but the whole situation is so crazy it doesn't matter. "And," she continues, "I intend to use it as a sex toy. Lie on your back on the floor, please." You lie down. She bends down and pulls your shirt up somewhat so your cock and lower abdomen are exposed. Then she stands astride you. She lifts her skirt up to her hips. The black lacy suspenders and stocking tops form a frame around a neatly trimmed triangle of thick black pubic hair. She squats down part way. Holds onto her skirt with one hand, with the other takes hold of your cock. It feels huge in her delicate, slim fingers. She holds it in place and squats further, guiding the tip of your cock to the warm wet entrance of her cunt hole. Then lowers herself all the way down. Her cunt is very wet but very tight, it stretches to let you in and you fill it completely with your cock. Her pussy lips grind down onto your balls. Still squatting, with exquisite control she slides herself slowly up and down your rigid shaft. You can see yourself entering her. Your shaft glistens with her juices. She seems in a world of her own as she slowly works herself up and down. Her big tits swing gently with the movement. She reaches down and starts to play with her clit with one hand. You are insanely aroused, harder than you would have thought humanly possible. It seems she can control this movement and fuck forever. She looks you in the eyes. "You're doing well, Gareth," she says, her voice still as calm as ever. "I said you had potential and I was right." "Yes Miss." "You want my tits, don't you Gareth?" There really is no point lying about this now. "Yes Miss, please. I beg you." "Very well." She shifts position so she is now kneeling rather than squatting, with your cock still in her cunt. She leans foward, her tits fall into your face. You desperately want to suck on them. She knows. "Go on Gareth. Take my tit into your mouth as far as it will go. Feel my nipple on the back of your throat. Suck hard." You do as she says, filling your mouth with one huge breast, nearly choking, sucking hard. She fucks you steadily. Grinds her clit onto your pubic bone. You go to the other breast, swallow as much of it as you can. She starts to get faster. Her tit slips from your mouth. Now she rides you hard and fast, tits bouncing and swinging in front of your face. "Cum with me, Gareth," she whispers. You feel her vagina give a massive spasm, then another, then a rapid series of throbs. The skin of her chest becomes flushed. You can't hold back. Your cock erupts inside her cunt. You cum so hard it almost hurts. Jet after jet of spunk shoots into her as she climaxes powerfully again. It feels like the two of you are never going to stop cumming. You get your breath back. She looks at you. "Good, Gareth, good. Now lick me clean." She lifts herself off your cock and positions herself over your face. Your own cum drips down onto you, mingled with her cunt juice. You take a deep breath and with long strokes of your tongue you lick it all off her and swallow. You guess that's what she wants. When you have taken it all, she stands up. "Get dressed, Gareth," she says. You obey. She herself puts her bra and blouse back on. "Miss, I promise I'll never tell anyone ..." you blurt. "It wouldn't matter if you did, Gareth. Nobody would believe you." She is right, of course. She sits down at her computer. "Thank you Gareth, that will be all. I have taken up some of your time so I will extend the deadline for the report till Monday 11 AM. I suggest you go home now." In a daze, your balls aching from the violence of your orgasm, you walk back to your desk. You pick up your jacket and go to switch off your computer. A new e-mail has just come in. From her. "Gareth - I will require your assistance at the Europe-wide strategy meeting in Amsterdam next Wednesday. My PA will book a flight and room for you. LS" New Boss (for Gareth) Ch. 02 On Monday Ms Sinclair is working from home. You send her your report on time, like an obedient schoolboy. Her PA has the details of the horribly early flight for Wednesday morning and the hotel where the conference is taking place. Ms Sinclair has mailed you instructions as to your brief - you are simply to attend those presentations which she does not, and make detailed notes. She will meet you at the end of the day for you to hand them over. That's all. Meetings all day, a dinner in the evening, one night in the hotel. In your own room, apparently. You arrive in Amsterdam on Wednesday morning glassy-eyed from the early start and too much coffee at the airport. A taxi is waiting to take you to the hotel which is right in the middle of town, on Dam Square. Museums to the south, elegant canal houses to the east ... and the red light district to the west. Hm. The day itself is pretty dull - bland corporate presentations by managers from all over Europe. You dutifully take notes, feeling as if you are on a school assignment. You are nervous, eager to please and still confused as well as aroused by memories of what had happened on Friday. It's hard to concentrate. A friendly German colleague named Hans makes a bit of conversation with you. Apparently the plan is to hit the town once the formal dinner is over, maybe have a look at the red light district ... just a look, of course. The last presentation finishes and you wait in the lobby for Ms Sinclair. There she is, immaculate as ever. Today the silk blouse is white. Black skirt, stockings and heels. "Gareth, do you have those notes for me?" "Yes Miss, of course." You hand them over. She looks over them. "This looks good, Gareth, very thorough. Well done." Your heart leaps at the praise. Ridiculous that a grown man could be held in such thrall but you cannot help it. "I will see you at the dinner, Gareth, Business dress code still applies there. If you go out afterwards you may wish to change into something more casual. I have one more presentation to give - Mr Kleibrink, the manager for Benelux, has asked me to address his graduate trainees. That will be all, Gareth. And thank you for the notes." Just a note of warmth in her voice? Hard to tell. "Yes Miss." You see her turn towards a group of expectant young colleagues who are waiting at the door of a meeting room. School again, you think. A tall, striking blonde at the back of the group catches your eye. No-one like that at your old school, you think. The dinner is harmless but boring. You sit next to Hans who is very excited about hitting the town afterwards. Mr Kleibrink gives an over-long speech. Ms Sinclair is deep in conversation with fellow executives. As soon as you can, you escape to your room, put on casual clothes. Then back down to the lobby as people start to gather, barely recognisable in their non-work gear. Then you see her across the room. Non-work gear indeed! So she is going to socialise with the rest? Even go to the red light district? Ms Sinclair is wearing a classic little black sleeveless dress with a neckline just low enough to give a glimpse of luscious cleavage. The dress hugs her slim figure perfectly. She has black fishnet stockings - you are now sure that she only ever wears stockings - and black patent high heels. She has let her hair down - literally. It tumbles in dark luxuriant waves over her shoulders. Around her neck is some kind of black ribbon choker. There's something a bit odd about the dress, mind. You get a little closer, then realise what it is. Her little black dress is made of leather. Jesus Christ! The crowd moves off, out of the hotel - and westwards. Hans has latched onto you and is chattering away about the red light district, but you pay him little attention. Ms Sinclair is elsewhere in the group but you cannot seem to get close to her. You look around at the women in the brothel windows, luridly lit, seeming to float in the dark like the ghosts of sin. Touts at the entrances of sex clubs try to grab your trade - "Best girls in town!" "Our girls are really filthy!" "Come on gents, give us a try! Live pussy show!" The insistent thump of dance music thunders from the doors, no doubt the soundtrack to the lapdancers and strippers and sex shows inside. Smaller groups of men are breaking off from the crowd, looking at the individual establishments. Hans starts to haggle with a burly doorman over admission prices to something called the Thai Banana Bar. Then you hear a soft female voice close by. "This is tourist stuff, Gareth." It is her, right next to you. You can smell her perfume rising from her cleavage. The brothel lights glint in her glasses. Her choker is a black ribbon with a tiny jewelled ornament in the shape of a black flower. "Miss?" "This is tourist stuff. These are shoddy rip-off joints, no quality. Here's a choice for you, Gareth - you can follow Hans and the boys and pay over the odds to watch a bored little Thai girl push bananas up her twat while a fake-titted Lithuanian skims your credit card behind the bar. Or you can follow me." There is no choice, of course. She begins to walk away purposefully towards a narrow side alley. You follow her. Out of the corner of you eye you see that Hans is staring open-mouthed at the sight of you going off with Ms Sinclair. In the darkness of the alley, away from the lurid lights of the brothels and bars, she stops at an unremarkable front door. The plate above the doorbell has no name, just a small logo - a black flower. She presses the bell, a Dutch voice crackles from the intercom. She replies in Dutch. The door opens. Inside is a tastefully lit reception area. A pretty girl behind a desk greets Ms Sinclair, who shows her a small black card or pass of some kind which she must have taken from her handbag. More Dutch is spoken. Ms Sinclair signs a book, the girl gives her two cards both bearing the number 52. "English is spoken here, Gareth," explains Ms Sinclair, "but not at reception. It deters the tourists.Take this card. This is a private members' club and no cash changes hands. If you want a drink or anything else, show the card, it will go on my account." You wonder what she means by "anything else." You look around. Stairs lead to an upper floor. In front of you is a heavy-looking double door. From behind it you can hear music - not thumping dance music but some kind of slow jazz - and voices and laughter, as if the room is full of people. Ms Sinclair pushes the door open and walks through. You follow her. And you stop dead in your tracks. You seem to have walked straight into the middle of some kind of orgy. You look around, trying to take it all in. You are in a large room, set out more or less like an upmarket nightclub. At one end is a small stage or platform. In front of that, tables with stools around them. Around the sides of the room, booths with fixed seats, some have had curtains drawn across them. The decor features the recurring motif of the black flower. In the booths you can see into, couples are having sex. It's as simple as that. Hands are up skirts, breasts are bared and being fondled and sucked, cocks are being sucked. Strippers are doing close-up lap dances and letting themselves be groped and fingered. Some couples are simply fucking. Some of the couples look to be real couples, others are clearly client plus stripper/hooker. You assume that behind the curtains it is more of the same. In the corner is a live band - fully clothed - a trio playing slow sensual jazz. On the stage is an old-fashioned couch or chaise longue. On that, a naked young man and woman are somehow moving beautifully to the music and genuinely having sex. They make sinuous stylised movements while she sucks his cock, then he licks her cunt. People sitting at the tables watch. "Do sit down, Gareth." Ms Sinclair's voice snaps you out of your amazement. She is sitting at one of the tables. You join her but cannot take your eyes off the dancers. The female dancer is extraordinarily beautiful. Tall, willowy but not skinny, with perfect toned buttocks and thighs, and small pert breasts like little apples. Elegant and lithe in every movement, even in the blatant sex acts she is performing a few feet away from you. She has fine features, high cheekbones and big eyes - hazel, you think. Her hair is short and very pale blonde. For a moment you think you have seen her before, but surely that is not possible. Her pussy is fully shaved. And at the moment it is full of the male dancer's cock. "Champagne, sir? Madam? On the house." You look up. A bar girl is standing in front of you carrying a silver tray on which are glasses of champagne. She is wearing a silk sarong or wrap type thing round her lower half - and is naked above the waist. She is of Indian appearance, short and curvy, with a big bum, big boobs and a big smile. "Er ... yes please," you stammer. "Would you like to taste?" You nod. She puts the tray down, takes a glass of champagne and pours a few drops of its contents onto one breast so it dribbles onto the big brown nipple. She gently holds her breast up for you to suck. Not quite believing what is happening, you suck the champagne from her big heavy tit. "Er ... ve-very good, thank you," you somehow manage to say. She passes you the glass, then repeats the exact same procedure with Ms Sinclair, only using her other breast. Ms Sinclair thanks the girl, who smiles broadly and moves on to the next table, buttocks jiggling happily under the sarong. "Let me explain about this place, Gareth - oh and do carry on watching the dancers while I do." On stage the girl is riding the boy in a reverse cowgirl position. "This is the Black Rose, Amsterdam's oldest and most respected private sex club. The owner is an old friend of mine and the place has been in her family for generations, passed down the female line. The only qualifications needed to become a member are discretion, and a respect for the place and the people who work here. Couples come here to have sex or to swap partners. All the dancers and bar girls are whores - very good ones, I might add, and very well paid and looked after - who offer sex as well as drinks and dances, either in the booths or in rooms upstairs. But there's no pressure and no obligation, you can sit over a glass of champagne and just watch the dances all night if you like. I thought you might find it interesting." You are simply speechless. Both of you turn to watch the stage. The blonde girl is now being vigorously sodomised over the arm of the couch. Then the boy pulls out and ejaculates copiously over her buttocks and back. Both dancers stand and take a bow. There is a polite scatter of applause, as if for an after-dinner speech, then they disappear behind a curtain. "Gareth," says Ms Sinclair, "I'm going to chat to the owner for a while. If you need another drink or anything just catch the eye of a bar girl and put it on the tab." Again you wonder if she meant to say "or anything". She walks away towards a door that looks private. You try to get your head round it all. Then another female voice, this time with a slight Dutch accent: "May I join you?" It is the blonde dancer, now dressed in a skin-tight black lace vest top and and ultra-short red PVC skirt. She smiles and sits down next to you before you can respond. "First time here, huh? What do you think? Did you like the dance?" "Amazing," you say. "It's all just amazing, incredible." She smiles. She really is gorgeous. Her manner is natural, putting you at ease; under the confidence there is a sense of gentleness and vulnerability which makes her all the more alluring. "My name is Astrid, by the way," she says. You introduce yourself. "So Gareth, if you like I can give you a nice little dance, just for you, at the table here ..." she has started to stroke the back of your hand ever so gently with one slim finger. You cannot look away from her huge eyes. "Or if you'd like we could have a more private dance, in a booth. And then maybe you wouldn't be able to resist going a little further? That would be fine by me. Or if you really want to treat yourself we can go to an upstairs room. Up there you could do anything to me - and I really do mean anything - and nobody would know. I am a very obedient girl, very eager to please. I very very rarely say no ..." It is the good old lapdancer's or hooker's spiel but by God she is convincing. Your heart is melting, your cock is stiffening and your brain is barely functioning. "Just a moment, let me think ..." you are thinking the unthinkable. Lap dances and sex with a hooker, put on Ms Sinclair's tab? Impossible ... but so so tempting. And then Ms Sinclair's voice, just behind you. "Hello Astrid, remember me? How did you enjoy my presentation this afternoon?" Astrid almost jumps up in shock, panic in her eyes, wrapping her arms around her scantily clad torso as if to protect herself. "Ms Sinclair! Oh I don't believe it! Oh please please don't tell Mr Kleibrink!" So that's why she looked familiar! She was the tall blonde management trainee who had caught your eye in the hotel - which now seems a million miles away. "Gareth, this is Astrid van Zeist, whom Mr Kleibrink rates as one of the most promising trainees in the Amsterdam office. And whom Maria, the owner of the Black Rose, rates as one of the best whores in town. Very popular and obliging, so I hear." Astrid is in a state of utter panic. "Oh don't worry," continues Ms Sinclair, "Mr Kleibrink is more broad-minded than you probably think, and he will not care how you choose to supplement your income. You don't have to worry about anything. I ask just one thing of you." "Anything, Ms Sinclair, anything!" says Astrid. I have booked one of the upstairs rooms for the evening, originally for Gareth and myself. Astrid, I would like you to join us." In her hand she has a key with a numbered fob. "Both of you follow me please." Ms Sinclair leads you and Astrid out of the main room, back into reception and up a steep staircase. As you climb the stairs you have a clear view up Astrid's tiny skirt of her perfect buttocks separated by a black lacy thong. Ms Sinclair unlocks the door to a room. The three of you enter. She locks the door again. The room is not what you had expected. Not a dungeon with whips and chains on the walls, nor a cliché red-velvet brothel bedroom. It is a plain, tasteful room, softly lit. There is a double bed, with space on all sides around it. The head of the bed, but not the foot, has metal posts and a rail with bars. There is a cupboard in one corner, an armchair in the other. The only thing that stops it looking like a hotel room is the fact that there is a very large floor-to-ceiling mirror taking up the middle of each of the four walls. It means that everywhere you look there are multiple reflections of everything. The window is slightly ajar, and the sounds of the red light district - music and voices - filter in from a distance. "Both of you, get undressed, then stand next to each other in the middle of the room. Astrid, keep your shoes on" says Ms Sinclair. Wordlessly, you and Astrid obey. You strip off. Astrid peels off her top, wriggles out of the tiny skirt and the thong. You and she stand next to each other, naked. Ms Sinclair looks at you dispassionately. You can see the three of you reflected in the mirrors. You run your eyes over Astrid's reflection. In her heels she is nearly as tall as you. She seems to consist of shades of blonde and tawny: light blonde hair, golden evenly tanned skin even at her shaved crotch, no tan lines, hazel eyes, caramel-coloured nipples large and prominent on her small breasts. There is a pronounced gap between the tops of her thighs and you can see that she has rather protruberant labia. This and the large nipples seem almost incongruous on her slim, smooth body. Ms Sinclair, on the other hand, is all contrasts: pale skin, dark hair, dark blue eyes - and, as you already know, pink nipples and black pubes. But she still has her dress on. "Well well, my young colleagues," she says, "you are a fine looking couple, I must say." A slight smile. "I'd like you to kiss." You and Astrid hesitate. "Go on," says Ms Sinclair, "Kiss. Snog. Make out. I want to watch." You and Astrid turn towards each other. She puts her arms up around your head and draws you into the most exquisite of deep French kisses. Her hot little tongue probes your mouth. Blood rushes to your cock, your head spins. You put your hands on her curving hips and pull her towards you, your erection jutting against her belly. Astrid softly kisses your ears and neck, her nipples are hard against your chest. "Oh how lovely," says Ms Sinclair, "do carry on." Out of the corner of your eye you see Ms Sinclair move towards the cupboard, open it and take something - what? - out. Then she is behind you as you are kissing Astrid deeply. Something soft and slightly rough is stroking your back from between your shoulder blades down to the base of your spine. You shiver and tingle. Another soft stroke, this time down to your buttocks. Then something reaching in between your legs from behind to stroke the underside of your scrotum. What the fuck is happening? Then whatever it is, it is gone. Ms Sinclair is moving round to behind Astrid. In her hand is ... what? ... ah, now you see. A leather riding crop. Oh Jesus. She had been teasing you from behind with a leather whip. And now she is doing the same to Astrid, you can feel her tense slightly. "Don't stop just yet, my dears," says Ms Sinclair. Then you hear the sharp smack of the whip on Astrid's buttock. Astrid tenses, and pulls you closer. You feel strangely protective towards her even though you know she must have played games like this a million times. Another crack of the whip, Astrid stifles a whimper as she kisses you. Then Ms Sinclair moves round to behind you. Astrid whispers to you "It's OK Gareth, hang in there, you're safe with me ..." at the very moment that you feel the sting of the whip on your arse. And again. You hang on to Astrid for dear life now. Another blow, and another. Sharper and more stinging than the spanks you felt last time. Real pain. And real arousal - your cock is just getting harder and harder. Then she is round behind Astrid again, a couple more blows. Then she steps away. "Oh well done," she says, "you two really are good. I'm going to have fun with you. Help me get undressed, please." You and Astrid disentangle yourselves. Ms Sinclair approaches Astrid, then turns her back. Astrid unzips the black leather mini dress, it slips to the floor. Underneath, Ms Sinclair is wearing a black bra, black lacy suspender belt, black fishnet stockings - and no panties. "Bra please, Gareth," she says nonchalantly. With shaking hands you unclip her bra strap just has you did that night in the office. She puts her clothes on the chair and turns to look at you. Big breasts jutting, nipples hard. "Astrid, I would like you to suck Gareth's cock. Gareth, try not to cum just yet, I'm going to be needing that hard-on in a moment." So no pressure then! But before you have time to think, Astrid is on her knees in front of you and has taken your cock into her mouth. You look down at her, she looks up at you with those big hazel eyes. Her soft warm mouth engulfs your cock, moves slowly back and forth. Christ she is good at this! How the fuck are you supposed to hold back? You look up at Ms Sinclair - she is playing with her pussy as she stands and watches you getting fellated. The look on her face is cool and dispassionate. You look down again at where Astrid is giving you the blow job of a lifetime. She works her way down your shaft with soft kisses until she reaches your scrotum which she starts to lick like a cat licking a kitten. You feel as if you are about to explode. New Boss (for Gareth) Ch. 02 Ms Sinclair notices your discomfort, walks over and gently guides Astrid's head away from you with the whip. "That'll do for the moment, Astrid, I have a use for that erection. Gareth, lie on the bed." Astrid obeys and so do you. Ms Sinclair goes to the cupboard again and brings out what looks like a black cord or ribbon - silk? - with some kind of loop at each end. "Gareth, put your hands up to the head of the bed. Astrid, you know what do do." She passes the cord to Astrid who moves round behind you, slips one loop over your right wrist, passes the cord round one of the bars at the bed head and slips the other loop over your left wrist. She tightens the loops so they are firmly round your wrists. You are tied to the bed, naked, with a monstrous erection. Ms Sinclair gets on the bed and squats over you just as she had done in the office. "Stay hard for me Gareth, I will let you cum inside me but I want a decent fuck first." Then she guides you into her cunt and bears down hard on you. Her tight wet vagina engulfs you. She slides herself up and down just as she did before. Again, you are transfixed by her breasts. Then: "Astrid, don't be left out. Sit on his face." Astrid climbs onto the bed, and onto you. With her back to Ms Sinclair she too straddles you, steadies herself on the bed head, lowers herself onto your face. Your mouth seeks out those luscious cunt lips, you suck them into your mouth and work your tongue between them so that she is in you and you are in her. All the time Ms Sinclair is riding your cock, sliding up and down the shaft, grinding down onto your balls. You feel the lace and net of her stockings rubbing on your hips. Astrid mimics the rhythm, grinding hard onto your face, almost stifling you. You cannot really see or hear anything, all your senses are engulfed by the two women's vaginas on your cock and mouth. Astrid is streaming wet, you have to keep swallowing her juice or else you will gag on it. You hear a muffled thwack and feel Astrid jolt. And again. And again. Oh my God, Ms Sinclair is spanking Astrid's buttocks as she rides you. You hear Astrid moan. Then a small delicate finger starts to insinuate itself into Astrid's pussy as you suck and lick it. Ms Sinclair is fingering Astrid's cunt. You lick the finger hungrily. It moves slightly back and you realise that now Ms Sinclair is probing Astrid's anus. And all the time Ms Sinclair's tight vagina rides up and down, up and down on your cock. It can't last. You let out a muffled roar into Astrid's pussy and you feel your cock explode inside Ms Sinclair. Spasm after spasm racks your aching bollocks. You feel the wetness of your own spunk flooding Ms Sinclair's cunt. For a moment the two women are both still, weighing down on you. You could blissfully suffocate like this. Your cock twitches inside Ms Sinclair. You feel her lift herself off you. Then Astrid too climbs off. You feel your face is sticky with her secretions. "You did well to hold on for so long, Gareth," says Ms Sinclair. "Untie him, Astrid. And lick his cock clean, there's a good girl." Astrid dutifully undoes the cord around your wrists, then kneels next to you and ever so gently licks the mixture of your sperm and Ms Sinclair's cunt juice from your cock and balls. Then she licks her own juices from your face. And kisses you tenderly. The taste of her mouth is indescribable. "Now lick me clean, Astrid," says Ms Sinclair, and Astrid obeys, lying back on the bed briefly as Ms Sinclair squats over her face. Then both women get off the bed. "Gareth, I would like you to get hard again but I appreciate that this may take a little while. Feel free to sit and watch Astrid and me," is Ms Sinclair's next command. Slowly, in a daze and unable to take your eyes off the two women, you sit in the armchair. There is a moment's stillness in the room. Then, without warning, the diminutive Ms Sinclair, with surprising force, roughly shoves the much taller Astrid back onto the bed and simply jumps on her. Astrid spreads her legs to welcome her mistress. Ms Sinclair grinds and humps her almost as if she were a man fucking a girl in missionary position. Astrid wraps her impossibly long legs around Ms Sinclair's slim waist. Ms Sinclair kisses her forcefully, bites her neck and ears. From where you are you have a full view of both women's pussies and arseholes, of Ms Sinclair's hairy mound frotting against Astrid's prominent clit. You are already becoming hard again. Ms Sinclair works her way down to Astrid's little apple breasts, bites them, tugs and stretches the nipples in her teeth. Astrid moans wordlessly. Now Ms Sinclair's hand is seeking out Astrid's cunt. The middle finger probes its way in, deep and firmly. Astrid spreads her legs widely. The index finger goes in too, she is finger-fucking hard now. Now a third finger. You are transfixed, you stand up and move closer to see better. Now Ms Sinclair makes her fingers and thumb into a cone shape, touching the tips together, and works the cone into Astrid's vagina. Astrid squirms and pushes back against Ms Sinclair's hand, the fingers are in as far as the knuckles. You see that there are bite marks on Astrid's breasts, matching the whip marks on her buttocks. Then Ms Sinclair looks up. "Astrid, doggy position please. Gareth, tie her hands to the bed." You hesitate. Is this going too far? She senses your hesitation. "It's all right, Gareth, we know what we're doing." Astrid nods in agreement and takes up position on all fours facing the head of the bed. You pick up the silk cord, slip it round one of her wrists, through the rail, round the other wrist. You are now standing at the head of the bed with Astrid looking up at you, her face level with your increasingly stiff cock. "It's OK Gareth, she whispers, "this is me, this is what I do." Her face is behind the bars of the bed like a captive animal. "Let me suck you again," she says. You push forward so your cock goes between the bars and into her welcoming mouth. At the same time Ms Sinclair has taken up position behind Astrid and is doing something with her hand. You cannot make out what but Astrid is pushing back onto her with some tension in her body as she continues to suck your cock. Ms Sinclair must be fisting her! Oh my God - Ms Sinclair has small hands but surely this is too much. Astrid pulls away for a second and reassures you again: "Don't worry Gareth, I love this," then resumes the blow job. With her other hand Ms Sinclair starts to spank Astrid, hard and fast. The impact of the spanking transmits itself through Astrid to her mouth, you feel the movement on your cock. You are now very hard but not ready to cum - unlike Astrid. She pulls away from your cock, rams herself back onto Ms Sinclair's fist and lets out an animal yell. Liquid drips from her cunt onto the bed, her body spasms but is held in check by the cord. She trembles. You think you see tears in her eyes, there is a sheen of sweat on her skin. Ms Sinclair withdraws her hand. "Untie her, Gareth." You obey. You are very aroused but now almost afraid at how far this is all going. Ms Sinclair whispers to Astrid, who nods. She kneels up in the middle of the bed. Now Ms Sinclair moves around so she is in front of Astrid, lies back and spreads her legs. Astrid gently goes down on her, starts licking her cunt. "My turn to cum, you see, Gareth," says Ms Sinclair, almost absent-mindedly stroking Astrid's fine blonde hair. "You can help, of course. I want you to use her." At first you don't understand. "Use Astrid. Fuck me with her. Fuck me through her." You look at Astrid. She makes a fantastically pornographic gesture, pointing with a free hand round to her raised rear end where you know her cunt is exposed. She wants you to use Astrid to fuck her. Now you understand. You kneel behind Astrid on the bed. You have full view of Astrid's pussy and arsehole. You can see that her pussy lips are swollen and dripping wet. You cock is now harder than you would ever have believed possible for human flesh and blood. Astrid reaches round and takes hold of it gently in her slim hand. It feels absolutely enormous, so hard that it is almost more like a dildo than a real cock. She guides the tip of it to the moist opening of her cunt hole and then pushes back hard onto it. At the same time you give a hard thrust forward and you are all the way in. Amazingly, after her vagina has already been so ravaged, it's a tight fit, you are stretching her and filling her right up. You start to pound Astrid's pussy hard and fast with your cock. And with each thrust you bang her face and tongue into Ms Sinclair's cunt and she gasps and moans. And she grinds back against Astrid's face. And with each push of her hips she pushes Astrid back onto your cock. So Ms Sinclair feels every movement of yours and you feel every movement of hers but they are transmitted through Astrid's body, through her mouth to Ms Sinclair and through Astrid's cunt to you. This is what she meant by "Use Astrid." You are using Astrid's whole body as an extension of your cock, to fuck Ms Sinclair. And she is using Astrid as an extension of her pussy, to fuck you. "Fuck her hard, Gareth, and spank her, she likes it." You obey, although you are trying to find places on Astrid's arse cheeks to spank that are not already covered in red marks. You and Leanne Sinclair have turned promising management trainee Astrid van Zeist into a human sex toy. And she loves every second of it. It can't last, of course. Finally, Ms Sinclair cums - finally, she relinquishes control. Suddenly and without warning she doubles up as if in pain and lets out a weird, almost inhuman cry. Her body is racked with spasms which transmit themselves through Astrid to you. You can see the muscles in her belly tensing as the climax courses through her. A stream of juice flows from her cunt and Astrid almost gags on it before swallowing. Ms Sinclair spasms again, grabs Astrid's head, grinds her pussy in Astrid's face. You are still inside Astrid and have not cum yet. The three of you are still for a moment. Then, to your surprise, Ms Sinclair eases herself off the bed. "Pull out for a moment, Gareth." All you can do is obey. You kneel behind Astrid, massively erect. Astrid moves up the bed and offers up her wrists to be tied to the rail again. Ms Sinclair ties her, then whispers something to her. She places a pillow under Astrid's body. Then Astrid moves from a doggy position and lies flat, face down, legs spreadeagled, the pillow under her hips raising and separating her gorgeous buttocks, exposing her anus. "I want you to fuck her up the arse, Gareth, but first be a gentleman and rim her for some lubrication." You prostrate yourself and probe Astrid's exquisite little arsehole with your tongue. She moves gently against you and moans with pleasure. Is there anything this girl will not do? You probe with your fingers. She is tight. You manoevre yourself over her and position your knob at her anus. She thrusts back on you, trying to help. You push gently. You are in. You do not want to hurt her but you very much want to fuck her. You slowly let your weight shove your full length into her bum. Her ring is very tight around the base of your cock. "Fuck her, Gareth, sodomise her," comes the command from Ms Sinclair. You start with slow steady thrusts, Astrid picks up your rhythm and helps. She whispers again "It's OK Gareth, it's all good, I can take it." You start to move faster. You are aware of Ms Sinclair on the bed behind you. Then suddenly - THWACK - the whip! And again! Ms Sinclair is whipping your buttocks as you are buggering Astrid! You heroically try to keep the rhythm steady, to go with Astrid's movements, but the stinging blows are coming ever faster. And your cock is getting even harder. "Good, Gareth," says Ms Sinclair, "that is impressive control." And then, at long last, you erupt. You have never known an orgasm like it. You cum so hard it actually hurts, and you keep on cumming and it feels like you're never ever going to stop. In jet after jet it floods Astrid's rectum. It just keeps on coming and coming and coming. And the whipping has stopped. And the room is silent. From outside you can still hear the sounds of the street - the world of Hans and the lads, of tacky bars and dance music, a million miles from where you are now, and just now you are not sure you can ever return to it. You pull out of Astrid's anus. She turns on her back, looks up at you. Pats the bed, motioning you to lie down next to her. You do so. Ms Sinclair is still kneeling. "Let me lie between you," she says, almost tenderly. You and Astrid make room for her. She lies in the middle, further up the bed so that her breasts are level with your and Astrid's faces. "You have done well, my young friends," says Ms Sinclair, "not many people could have sustained that, but you two show great promise. Here, I will suckle you." She puts an arm each around your and Astrid's heads and lifts you up slightly until you can each get one of her nipples into your mouth. "Well done," she whispers again. Astrid takes your hand in hers and rests it gently on Ms Sinclair's pubes. You and Astrid suck gently on her big tits. After the passion and sheer erotic violence of the evening, Ms Sinclair's big soft pale breast with its prominent nipple seems the safest and most comforting thing in the world. You bury your head in the mass of flesh, smell her perfume on the smooth skin, suck steadily like a child. Astrid squeezes your hand, you squeeze back. Again Ms Sinclair says, "Well done. And thank you." You look up at her "Thank you Ms Sinclair," you whisper, and return to sucking on her nipple. "Thank you Ms Sinclair," says Astrid. She too carries on sucking. "You can call me Leanne," says Ms Sinclair.