1 comments/ 9870 views/ 4 favorites Better Than Anyone Else By: itastorywriter [This is the male counterpart of my story "Stronger Than Anything".] ***** I was already in my office since early morning when you knocked at the door. I was expecting you: my old secretary finally retired and the human resource department told me you had been chosen to replace her. What I wasn't expecting tough, was you being such a hottie. The very moment you opened the door I was captured by your figure; then you walked towards me, your hair waving on your shoulders step after step, your shy eyes looking on the ground in front of you as I stared at your naked legs, your white smile already making my morning brighter. From that very first moment I couldn't stop thinking about you. It's been months already, and having you as my secretary is getting every day harder: I desire you, I want you. I don't even know if you are married; if you have a boyfriend. I never dared to ask, but a couple of rings on your fingers say it all. But I'm your boss, and I could at least do something to get closer to you: it wasn't difficult to promote you to the role of my personal assistant. That was a couple of days ago, and right now you are planning our first business trip together. We'll be alone, finally, for a couple of days, and finally I'll be able to make my move. *** Today's the day. It's evening and I'm already inside the train that will get us to our final destination, just a couple of hours away. I'm sitting in the compartment of the business class, the train is not full and the seats around us seem free. We are almost alone. The train is going to leave soon... where are you? I'm thinking about calling you when you finally arrive. "Hi, sorry for being late." You're beautiful as ever: your breast slightly poking out of your unbuttoned t-shirt, a short skirt just over your knees. I appreciate already how you use to dress during the summer: you probably feel hot, and you leave lot of skin uncovered for me to see. Do you do it consciously? At least, I like to think that you do it for me. You probably know you are beautiful, you know that every man you talk to will dream of you, and you like to feel the centre of their thoughts. But you're not a slut, I know that; you are a good woman, and that's why I'm slowly falling for you, day by day. Our relationship is made of looks, made of business talks, made of accidental bruise on the skin of your arm or leg, when we sit side by side on meetings, when you bring me coffee. I would like to see you lifting your luggage, just to see your stretched legs, your tensed breast, but I behave gentleman and do it for you. You smile at me. It's a silent "thank you", but I can hear it aloud. You sit near me as soon as the train leave the station. I can smell your perfume, and I'd like to dive in your neck, kissing it, licking it. Did I ever want someone so much? I can't remember it: if it was, it was long ago. It's dark, outside and inside the train. We are almost alone; I can see two men a couple of seats away and no one else. But mostly, I'm focused on you: you seem asleep, and your head is reclined towards me. I feel your arm against mine, your breast moving up and down, your skin rubbing mine when the train trembles. Your head is almost resting on my shoulder. You sleep - I'm sure - because you'd never do anything like that otherwise. I like it though, because I can turn my head and watch you; I'm so close that I could kiss you. Your slightly departed lips give me sinful thoughts; I see your cleavage a little below; it gives me the shivers to think of the many men that had the privilege to touch it, squeeze it, and play with it. I'm envious. And I'm getting excited; I'm already hard in my trousers, just by your presence near me. You move in your sleep, and your head is finally resting on my shoulder; I could kiss your hair like this, I hope you'll not wake up. I could even reach your breast with my hand if I wanted, but I won't. Instead, I unbutton my trousers and carefully slide a hand inside them. I have never been the bold type. I never lose control. Well, until I met you, I guess. I know if you wake up now, you'll see my hand moving inside my trousers, in front of your eyes. Maybe it's what I want, maybe not, I don't know anymore. But my hand keeps moving: my fingers tease my wet tip, rub it, and trace the contour of it. I think I can feel the scent of my juices... do you feel it too? Are you dreaming something hot now, because of me? I grab my shaft with my hand, and begin moving it up and down, slowly jacking off. I'm sure I'll come soon, your scent is so strong, your body against mine so sexy. Your breast is pushed against my arm; it seems to me I can feel your nipples, or is it my imagination? I can't move that arm; I can't risk you waking up. My breath is getting heavier though, and the orgasm approaching doesn't help me stay in control. My legs shakes, as my hand keep on moving on me. Up and down, I'm so wet, so excited. I'm going to cum. I look at you: I can see your lips, I imagine the perfection of them around my swollen tip, the shape of your mouth filled with it, the way you would move your lips to lick my cum on them when I... and I just can't resist anymore: I cum inside my trousers, shooting my full load inside my boxers. My moans are soft; you don't notice them I'm sure. I manage to relax and clean my hand, while you still sleep on my shoulder. I'll know only later: you were watching me all the time. *** "Are you kidding me?" I'm sitting on a sofa in the hall of our hotel, waiting for you to check in, watching you. And those are the only words I could hear in the past few minutes. You are agitated, I can see that, and the hotel hostess is desperately trying to calm you down, but I can't really understand why. Then, you come back. "I'm sorry Chris, there seem to be a problem..." You tell me how the hostess said they had to change our reservation for two single rooms: due to the fair they are fully booked and they got directions from the owner to fit the most people they could. That's why they are not providing single rooms: we are getting a double one, together. "...and I couldn't do anything. She says she sent an email but I never got it, I swear!" I have to say, you look kind of funny like this. Angry, agitated... you're not the usual Kate I know. But I like it, you seem more... natural. You seem yourself, and I'm starting to think you have never been yourself in the past months, with me, in our office. Why? "Don't worry Kate. It happens sometimes, when they overbook: we'll write a complaint letter later... as for now, we either sleep in the hall or in our room. What you prefer?" *** You're smart, you don't even answer. You smile at me and take your luggage. I think that in the end I'm not such a gentleman if I let you carry your luggage every time, but it's difficult to gather the courage even to do small thing like this. Finally, when we get in the elevator, when we stand side by side, I simply slide my hand over yours - your soft skin, touching mine, just a little longer than expected - and take your luggage. You say nothing, but I see your smile in the mirror. That is a smile I never saw on you. Room 313. It's easy to remember: it's the plate of Donald Duck's car; it's the your birthday, 31st March. I carved it in my mind when I read your CV: I had this silly idea of buying you a gift... but I never did it. Stupid me. I swipe the card in the reader; the door opens, then closes behind us. Alone, in a room, together. I take a deep breath, I definitely need it. The room is clean and pretty. There is a double bed and a flat TV, two chairs and a desk you already took for yourself. You're unpacking your suitcase slowly... I have already finished: I like to travel light. You'll learn to do it too, eventually. We aren't speaking much. I think you are absorbed in your unpacking and I'm absorbed in you. Sitting on my side of the bed, watching your back as it waves left and right, your ass I can only imagine under the short skirt. You disappear in the bathroom. I'm still dressed and I don't know what to do: I usually sleep naked and I didn't bring any pyjama. What should I do? Then, you come back. "Don't laugh." That's what you say when you appear in front of my eyes; but I could never laugh in front of such a view. You stand up in front of me, wearing a black satin camisole that barely covers your figure. Your legs are naked, your feet too and I can see pink nail polish on your nails. You really take care of yourself, you know how to feel "woman". "I'm used to sleep like this: I can't really sleep well otherwise. I'm sorry, is it a problem?" If my problems were all like this, I'd be the happiest man in the world. "Actually, I feel relieved. I was trying to find a way to tell you I don't have a pyjama with me... I usually sleep naked. But don't worry; I'll not sleep naked of course... I guess wearing my underwear is a wise choice, isn't it?" Again, you don't answer. I can't really read you tonight. The whole situation is really awkward: unexpected, fantastic, but awkward. I take off my trousers and shirt, and then head to the bathroom myself. When I come back, you are already in the bed, under the sheets, facing the opposite side. I'm lucky, because I noticed your breast under that camisole; I noticed you are not wearing a bra, and that gave me a huge hard-on I could not conceal from your eyes. Really, this will be a though night. I slide in the bed too and feel it's already warm. Such a feeling, thinking the woman I like the most is almost naked beside me, warming my bed. But we are boss and assistant... that would be wrong... that is definitely wrong. I decided to leave the bathroom light turned on, the door just opened a crack. This way, the room is dark enough to sleep but when your eyes adapt to the low light you can actually see. This atmosphere... could be romantic, if you just were here for me and not by chance. "Good night, Kate" But again, you don't answer. Well, I guess you are already sleeping: your breath is slow, you're not moving at all. And my hard-on is still there: I'll not sleep until I take care of it, I know myself really well. I slide a hand between my legs, inside my boxers, and caress my tip. It's already wet, again, because of you, and just teasing it with my thumb is giving me shivers. It'll not take long... I'll cum soon. And then, I'll just slide out of bed and head to the bathroom to clean myself. This will be me making love to you tonight, without you even knowing. But then, when my orgasm is getting close, when I almost can't stop myself anymore, a sudden movement on my side. I freeze. I hear you moving, turning around. I hope you are still sleeping, until I feel your hand on my stomach, and then sliding down. This is heaven... this is wrong. How did we get to this? But your fingers slide on my tip, on my shaft, up and down, until you reach my balls and cup them in your hand. You stop like that, cuddling them with your palm and your fingers, warming them. Your lips are close to my ear now; I feel your breath getting heavier, I hear your whispered words: "You really think I didn't see you on the train?" You squeeze my balls harder, as to punish me for what I did. "You really think you can make me so horny and then get away without finishing what you started?" You lick my earlobe, kiss it and suck it with such transport. I feel your hand back on my penis, up and down on it, faster, squeezing it stronger. And your lips on mine: I never thought you could be so aggressive, so passionate. I feel your tongue inside me, eagerly looking for mine, your scent inebriating my senses, finally so close to me. And I'm in love with it. Then you just turn around, over me, slide the border of your camisole under your breast and lay them on my face. I couldn't wish for more: I begin kissing it, licking it, sucking those wonderful hard nipples with love, in ecstasy. You slide your hips lower, and I feel a hand guiding my hardness inside you. You're melting: so wet and ready for me, and I was so filled with doubts... But now you are mine. And I'm yours, because you decided to take me. You move your hips up and down on me; I feel my shaft completely inside of you, your skin rubbing mine, my tip massaging your cervix each thrust. I'm almost there... I know I should stop, I should tell you and wait for you but I can't stop myself anymore. I'm really not a gentleman. And in that very moment, you lift your head; you hold your breath and close your eyes, and I feel your muscles gripping on my shaft, your body pushing harder on mine and your moans as the orgasm pervades you. I don't have to stop anymore... my orgasm comes faster and stronger then I expect, as I fill you with my cum, spurt after spurt, every drop of my love pushed deep inside of you. You take your breath for a while, lying on my shoulder, our bodies still connected by our passion. "Has anything changed?" I ask, but you just roll off me, to your side of the bed, and say: "Let's sleep, because tomorrow will be a hard day."