0 comments/ 14442 views/ 4 favorites Dirty Mr. Styles By: NikkiBastion Dirty Mr. Styles A Short Erotica Tale By Stacey Taylor Often Writing As Nikki Bastion Literotica Edition Dirty Mr. Styles © 2011 Stacey Taylor All Rights Reserved .One. 'Morgan Humphrey Styles, Attorney At Law' read the newly stenciled sign on the glass door. Though he was quickly nearing the age of retirement, Morgan Styles had no intentions of giving up his long held position as Karas Cove's only resident defense attorney anytime soon. Recently relocated to a brand new single office, and now with both a personal secretary and front office receptionist, as well as his handy paralegal, he felt on top of the world and ready to embark on a whole new caseload. Styles had spent the last decade sharing offices with other attorneys arriving from out of town, as well as real estate lawyers and a title and loan company. The small, sterile offices made him feel less important than he truly believed himself to be and the constant noise and traffic made it nearly impossible to focus on the legal work he needed to complete on time. Now, he had his very own office -- a long time coming. Rich pile carpet in deep rustic brown, a heavy mahogany desk, and matching bookshelves gave his personal office an exquisite, old world feel. Nothing beat the high back leather chair he'd picked out for himself down in Flagstaff. He'd even splurged for the office girls to have nice oak desks and file drawers. When he wanted to be, Morgan Styles was most generous. The problem, however, was not an inefficient working environment (at least not anymore). The problem, as it had been for nearly 7 years now, since his wife's curious demise, was personal inefficiency. Morgan Styles stood a prominent 6 foot tall and was once quite the athlete. As he'd crossed into his 50s, the bulk and muscle had softened, ultimately turning to flab and fat. His round, bulbous shape weighed in over 240lbs by the time he'd reached his current age of 63. His thinning hair had remained dark, though in recent years, streaks of gray permanently established themselves around his temples. Morgan Styles was even less enthusiastic about the man boobs. At home, while he was hygienically correct, his busy schedule allowed a world of clutter to pile up in spots in most every room in his beautiful brown stucco home. He'd lost his housekeeper to a relocation and rarely bothered with grocery shopping anymore, choosing to dine at his favorite restaurants in town. It saved time and trouble. Then there was his love life, or, to be frank, his sex life. Truth be told, both were non existent. He still yearned for somewhat of a sex life. Somewhere along the way, his schedule removed him from any real social life after his wife's death. He'd not loved the woman in nearly 30 years, and while her cause of death had been ruled Undetermined, there were some in town who suspected an unsavory fate had befallen her, as within days of her funeral, Morgan Styles had removed all traces of his wife's existence from their home. No one had ever seen Morgan Styles grieve for the missus. Not even at her funeral, attended by hundreds in and outside of the community, had anyone ever seen Morgan Styles appear to be a grieving widower. He seemed calm, assured as always, keeping a refined dignity on hand at all times. If Morgan Styles did grieve, he'd done so in isolation. It was his lack of emotion that roused some suspicions as to the true nature of his wife's death. If Morgan Styles had been involved on some level, it behooved the local authorities and no charges were ever filed, nor was any investigation to take place. It seemed that her death, curious as it may have been -- a woman in surprisingly good health to simply die in her sleep in the comfort of her own bed -- could not generate enough suspicion to do much about. Since her death and subsequent removal from his reality -- not even a photograph of her remained anywhere in his home -- Morgan Styles continued his established work and dinner routine unabated. Morgan Styles had a bit of a secret, though. He may have been in his early 60s, but he was still quite highly sexed and masturbated several times a day, usually imagining himself slipping his thick, squat little cock inside the luscious wet hole of any of the cute waitresses at his favorite diners, or the Temp who'd briefly worked for him a few summers previous. Mr. Styles loved his orgasms and enjoyed jerking off every chance he got. During his nearly 2 hour drive down to Flagstaff, single lane traffic on 89 always helped facilitate his horny rush. He'd get just outside of town, pull into the scenic overlook lot to unzip his pressed slacks, then ease back onto the highway, leisurely fondling his prick for the drive, able to cum within a mile of entering the city. Morgan kept a packet of wet wipes on the seat for clean up and would pull over to repair himself professionally before continuing on. He thrilled at the notion of all the people in front of or behind him, passing him, having no idea he was pleasuring himself the whole trip. When he would dine at the local steakhouse, one of the waitresses, a slender young woman in her early 20s with a surprisingly underdeveloped figure for her age, had been one of his favorite fantasy muses. After finishing his meal, Morgan Styles would steal into the men's room, lock himself in a stall, push his pants to his knees and stroke his little cock wickedly until he'd shot his creamy jism into the toilet. Imagining her slinking into the stall with him, rubbing her hands along her tiny body and smiling at him appreciatively was enough of a fantasy he could finish in a minute or two. Jerking off to her was a favorite indulgence. It usually didn't take him long, nor did he make a lot of telling noises. What he wouldn't give to fuck her just once. While not as enticing to him as the notion of some sweet young thing gobbling up his needful prick, he did tend to enjoy slipping out onto his patio when his neighbors were enjoying their hot tub. The wife (he'd assumed the couple had been married but didn't know for sure, he'd never met them) would always strip naked on their patio and stride slowly to the pool, stepping down and straddling her man for some splashing copulation. She was a bit too masculine and hard bodied for his taste but willful naked ladies were never a bad thing, he concluded. T&A is T&A and he loved some T&A. In the dozens of times Morgan Styles had crept onto his own patio, the couple next door had never seemed to notice -- never saw him sitting in his bathrobe in the garden chair, leisurely stroking his cock while watching them fuck and suck each other for hours. Sometimes, he would sit on his patio fully naked and openly masturbate while watching the hot young couple; they never seemed to notice -- or if they had, they simply didn't care. Perhaps they were exhibitionists? Who knows. Morgan enjoyed his live porn act next door and had no intentions of disrupting the show. What he wanted, and had been more seriously contemplating lately, was to hire himself a personal assistant; one with skills to help him organize his personal life, and one willing to help him find a woman who wouldn't judge him too harshly. His problem, that he could not escape, was that the pickings for the sort of gal he'd prefer were slim to none at his age. Not even his money (a good chunk of it inherited from his deceased wife) seemed to be enough for women these days. He was too well known locally to ever risk entertaining a prostitute, either in Karas Cove or in Flagstaff. Then there was his personal secretary, Lena Gilbert, who'd worked for him for over a decade. He'd hired her in her early 40s when she still looked reasonably attractive, specifically because she looked reasonably attractive. Once he'd gotten to know her, however, Morgan Styles recognized he felt nothing for her in any other capacity than employee -- and she was indeed fabulous at her job. She kept his office running in tip top shape. Lena, however, had an ongoing, well known crush on Morgan, always going out of her way to make her attraction known (though with proper discretion, of course), always feeling that he would choose her in the end to avoid being alone. When she wasn't reminding him of it, she was perfectly willing to wait until he figured out that he loved her all along. She would be waiting a very long time. Morgan not only did not love her, he mostly found her rather repellant. She was a tall, thin woman but her overly tanned flesh had begun to resemble dry leather. Her overly dyed red hair had begun to resemble dry broom bristles, and her deep, raspy voice, while never from smoking, tended to make him feel he was conversing with another male. That was mostly where the problem with Lena Gilbert was, as far as Styles was concerned: she was just too mannish for his tastes. That, and she seemed utterly pathetic waiting around on his affections, wasting her life, ignoring his acknowledgment that what she desired stood no chance of ever happening. Though Morgan knew that he, himself, was certainly no physical catch, he couldn't help be true to his genuine desires and tastes. He wanted a woman who looked and felt like a woman. He wanted curves. He wanted a nice set of tits he could fondle and suckle. He wanted a pert, round ass he could spank, and a tight pink pussy he could do all sorts of naughty things to. Morgan Styles would often experience quite lucid dreams of much younger girls, perhaps barely legal, inexperienced, and hungry for attention, wealth, and training. Oftentimes Morgan would become so aroused by its immersive reality he would ejaculate in his sleep. Awake, Morgan found himself distracted by younger girls he'd encounter throughout the day, and struggled to restrain is naughty, perverted urges. So as not to risk his reputation, he found a happy medium with secret fantasy of horny pre teens, or with the kinds of women who were legal, but didn't quite look like it. Still, he was rudely aware of the facts of the matter. Women like that were eager for hot, young, well built studs, or men who'd maintained an appealing physique. Those sorts of women would never find him appealing, what with his pudgy round face and double chin, dark thinning beard, his fat, thick little fingers, or his big, round tubby ass. He knew it...but he still hoped. He'd been thinking quite awhile that if he hired himself a personal assistant, she could help him find just the right woman -- this was clearly a job for a woman's point of view. Briefly, Morgan had entertained the notion of approaching Nancy Utemeyer (his paralegal), and perhaps Kitty Lopez (his receptionist) -- both were quite young 20 somethings and seemed to be fairly in the know about girl things, or dating things, but in the end, he decided against it. Nancy had a boyfriend and seemed overtly -- if not overly -- religious, believing in the sanctity of matrimony, and he had no desire to remarry. Kitty was single, overweight, not quite appealing enough and usually annoyed him with monotonous tales of the book club she'd recently joined. She didn't appear to have much of a social life as it was, so probably wouldn't be the best option. No, he would hire himself a personal assistant. After he had an opportunity to see her organizing his pitiful personal life, getting to know her somewhat, then he would appeal to her feminine expertise to help him find a woman suitable for him, and of course, give him some pointers on how to make himself more appealing to women, even at his age...and weight. Morgan Humphrey Styles was an old, perverted fat ass in need of a good woman, an attractive woman, a young woman...a sexual woman. And he was in need of her very, very soon. .Two. It was another bright, sunny afternoon when Morgan Styles finally made time to follow through and place his advertisement in the local Chronicle's Help Wanted section. Lena was concerned about the placement of the ad, feeling that once again, her skills and talent were being overlooked. While nearly 30 applicants arrived wanting the job, Lena's inherent cattiness and jealousy took over and many applications became conveniently lost. Morgan Styles was none the wiser, since most days he was out of the office and in court. He would fire her in an instant if he'd ever discovered her betrayal, but Lena had felt strongly that he didn't need a personal assistant for anything when he could simply ask her. She'd be perfectly delighted to become his assistant, to take care of his home, to tend to his needs. After discovering he'd placed such an ad, Lena decided to intervene -- for his own good. Then she would make the offer to include assistant duties, as well. Meanwhile, Morgan would ask Lena to bring in the daily applications and grew discouraged at the paltry amount, perhaps three or four over the first week. Surely, more people in this town were in need of a good job? Fortunately for his search, Morgan's caseload eased up for several days the following week, so he would be in the office and could take interviews himself. Lena seemed put out by the whole notion but it wasn't her concern. Morgan knew she wanted that job, too, but he had no intentions of offering it to her. She would simply cause a fuss about his desires to find a much younger, far more appealing woman for his other kind of needs. Wednesday would be Morgan's last free afternoon to schedule interviews for the week. Then it was back to the grind and many trips back to Flagstaff for work. In fact, he was due in Superior Court bright and early Thursday morning to defend a client on justifiable homicide charges at 9:30am sharp, and really needed to spend Wednesday night reviewing briefs and making sure all the documentation was perfected. Shortly after 2pm that afternoon, Morgan Styles heard the front doors open and a tiny, sweet voice made of music requesting to speak with him personally. He could see Lena at her desk peering up over her horn rimmed glasses, giving the as of yet seen lady the stink eye. He could not see the receptionist counter from his office desk but heard Kitty Lopez tell her that she would have to fill out an application. He watched Kitty Lopez waddle passed the doorway, and shortly after, waddle by again holding a legal sized application in hand. He felt a disgusted wince wrinkle his features at the swishing sound of her bloated thighs smearing together as she walked, even though when he walked, his bloated thighs made exactly the same noise. "Is Mr. Styles in? Would it be possible to see him this afternoon?" the melodic voice asked ever so sweetly. Rather coarse and firm, Lena interjected, decidedly put out: "No ma'am. Mr. Styles won't be seeing anyone this afternoon. Fill out the application and leave it with me. If he's interested, we may call you in for an interview at a later date." Lena Gilbert thinned her lips, visibly annoyed. Morgan's irritation grew alongside his curiosity about the woman attached to such a lovely, enchanting voice. Didn't Lena know he was in the office with the door wide open and could hear everything? Of course she did. Morgan wheeled back the chair and hoisted up his heaviness, moving briskly to the doorway to intervene. He'd mostly needed to satisfy his curiosity as to the owner of this delightful voice. "Oh..." said the stranger. "Yes, ma'am. I understand." When Morgan Styles appeared in the doorway, his eyes drank in a vision of pure loveliness. There was a sight to behold, for sure. She was quite beautiful. Quite petite, with golden blond hair that fell in a gentle curl as it reached her lower back. Her dainty figure and features made him positive she wasn't a day over 17. In a flash, Morgan Styles intervened. "Nonsense, Miss Gilbert...I have time today for an interview," he'd said pleasantly, his eyes never shifting from the beautiful young thing in the reception area. "Come in, come in!" he said to the new girl and stepped aside in the doorway sweeping his hand inside the room. The young woman looked up with surprise and smiled sweetly at him. Without looking back at the rather dismissive older woman, she moved elegantly around the receptionist's desk and walked into his office, looking up at him with the most sparkling blue eyes he'd ever seen. She gazed up at him appreciatively. "Thank you, sir." "You're quite welcome." Morgan Styles smiled and felt himself stand even straighter. Without looking back, he ordered Lena Gilbert to hold all his calls and to not disturb him during the interview. Then he abruptly closed the door, knowing Lena Gilbert would be beside herself he'd prevented her unwanted efforts to derail his agenda. He would deal with her soon enough. For now, he moved back to his desk, making eye contact with the young lady standing near the guest chair. She was still smiling at him. He couldn't help taking in her shape, given the way her polished, purple, sleeveless dress fit her most appealing curves. The skirt was above the knee, not too short -- just perfectly professional. She held a small handbag by its straps dangling in front of her, and black sweater draped over her wrists. "Sit down, miss--?" "Thank you, sir. Miss Thomas." She offered pleasantly. "Miss Thomas," savored the lawyer. "You're interested in the personal assistant's position, then?" he asked, knowing she already had the job. Knowing she could probably have any damn thing she wanted, if only she would keep looking at him that way. He was downright smitten off a single glance. Childish, of course, but Morgan Styles suddenly felt as spry and studly as any 19 year old boy...and frankly, just as horny. Miss Thomas nodded and answered decidedly: "Yes, sir, I am. Very much so." She sat in the chair as Morgan gracefully held the back of it, though it was a solid, steady piece of furniture. Having taken a seat, she draped her left leg over her right knee toward him and adjusted the hem of her dress. He couldn't get over how mannerly and graceful she was. He was most impressed by her. Like a sweet, teen angel. Oh, how he would love to deflower her...devour her...make her his own. Forgetting he was still a fat ass, Morgan moved quickly - but with refined dignity - back to his chair and sat, unable to take his eyes from her. After a pause, he inhaled deeply and began the interview. Miss Thomas answered in all the right ways. She was proper and polite, and not the least bit desperate or insincere. She was a refined, mannerly, quite elegant young lady and Morgan loved it, ached for it! Finally, his curiosity had been piqued enough. "How old are you, Miss Thomas?" Sweetly, delicately, she answered: "I'm thirty three, sir." Morgan's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "You're kidding!" "No, sir," she smiled, looking into his eyes directly. "I wish I was!" "Nonsense, little lady. You don't look a day out of your teens!" He chuckled, still astonished at her overwhelmingly youthful appearance. "I was sure I would have to be filing age permits or have to turn you away. I must say, I am highly impressed with the way you've taken care of yourself. And well together, if I may say so." She looked like a school girl, was built like a woman, and had the maturity and presence of mind to know exactly how to behave. Dear god, she was perfect! Everything he'd dreamed of. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate that." Miss Thomas smiled and lowered her lashes ever so, then looked back at him again. Her eyes glistened. Morgan Styles wiped a palm across his mouth and beard, inhaled, and continued to describe exactly what he was needing in a personal assistant. He explained, with legitimate humility, that his personal life was in disarray, what with the schedule and overwork, being gone and needing the services of a house keeper. Dirty Mr. Styles Then he needed someone to organize his files at home, make sure he has his suits dry cleaned and ready on time -- he would like his assistant to handle the headhunting portion and find the right candidates to do these things, but would prefer it if she, herself, would be in charge of handling the files at home. And of course, accompanying him to Flagstaff throughout the week, keeping him in check, making sure he didn't forget anything, which he was often prone to do. Morgan Styles was a mess. He deliberately omitted his agenda of getting her to help him find a woman, helping him become more appealing to them -- at least for now. He would need to get to know her, make sure she was capable of this particular endeavor. So far, she seemed to be highly intelligent while being amazingly youthful. If she wanted the job, it would certainly be hers. After explaining to her the salary, the hours, the benefits, and vacation time package, he leaned back in the chair and clasped his fingers on top of his tortoise sized belly. "If the job description is suitable to you, I would prefer you to start first thing in the morning." Miss Thomas beamed a smile that competed with the brilliant Arizona sunshine and nodded with restrained excitement. "Oh, yes, sir! Thank you so much for the opportunity, sir! What time should I arrive?" she asked with much poise. "I'm due in court in Flagstaff at nine thirty am sharp. You will need to be here at six so we may arrive early. We can discuss things in more detail on the drive down and back. Is that acceptable for you, Miss Thomas?" "Absolutely, sir! I will be here!" Morgan Styles felt his little stubby cock stiffen as he gazed appreciatively at her, watching her smiling back at him. He moved his hand to the telephone intercom and pressed a button, not moving his eyes from his new personal assistant. His new, spectacularly beautifully, perfect personal assistant. Not even the gritty, masculine voice of Lena rasping through the speaker disjointed Morgan Styles from the young woman's beauty. "Yes, Mr. Styles?" He could hear her jealousy hissing through. "Miss Gilbert..." he began with a cheerful tone, "Make up a new employee file for Miss Thomas please and bring it to me at once. I've just hired this young lady as my personal assistant." "Have you? Yes...well. Of course." Clearly, Lena did not approve. Something would have to be done about this. The man is simply ridiculous. Without removing his finger from the intercom button, deliberately so, Morgan Styles smiled and offered the following sentiments to his new assistant: "By the way, Miss Thomas...should my secretary, Miss Gilbert, ever give you any trouble, or behave toward you with any disrespect whatsoever, I want you to tell me right away so I may remedy the situation once and for all. She may find herself out of work." Morgan intended to put the woman in her place, which was out of his personal business. "I wouldn't hesitate, sir." She smiled at him again, also aware of his finger on the intercom button. Her tone conveyed a gentle triumph over the other woman's cattiness, one recognized by all woman and practically no men. Morgan Styles may not know, but Lena Gilbert certainly did, that Miss Thomas had sent a strong message she will not be toyed with. Morgan released the intercom button, leaned back and smiled. Yes, he definitely liked this little lady, no doubt about it. Lena Gilbert felt her time had just run out. Fuming that he'd gone ahead with this ridiculous notion, she decided that she would approach him personally, away from the office, away from this new...girl, and plead her case one more time, to show him that she was the best candidate for this position. Then she would get to work finding a way to get this little harlot out of her life...out of Morgan's life...once and for all. Whatever it took. .Three. No one was at the law office when Miss Thomas arrived at 5:45am. She knew to be even earlier, hoping Mr. Styles would be first to show up. She could tell by the looks, the tone, the relays the day before that the secretary was apt to be a royal bitch and throw a wrench into her plans. It had been a fluke of nature, or so it truly seemed, that she'd been absently browsing the thin weekly newspaper when she'd happened upon the ad placed by Morgan Styles' law office seeking an assistant. It was too tempting to pass up. This would be the perfect opportunity for her to be able to pursue her plans. She sat comfortably in her little blue Volvo sipping coffee. Her makeup had been flawless this morning, subtle and youthful with a touch of vamp. She had chosen to wear a delicate, white, button up blouse with short sleeves, tucked into a charcoal colored skirt with a gentle ruching in front and back. She wore no stockings, just slipped on black, patent leather Mary Janes with a slender 4 inch heel. Very sexy and alluring, she knew. Her blond hair was pulled loosely back and clipped low with a barrette. Mr. Styles would definitely approve of her attire this morning. That's precisely what she counted on, but to be sure, she unbuttoned the top button to reveal the barest hint of cleavage. Nothing tacky, but enough to keep his eyes darting back with hope. Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a huge, brown 1970s Thunderbird. Such modest transportation for a man of means. She'd wondered why he wouldn't drive something more prestigious like a Mercedes. No matter, if she had her way -- and she fully intended to -- her plans would set her up just fine in life...and her new found position as personal assistant to Morgan Styles was the perfect opportunity to get her there. Miss Thomas had a ready smile awaiting Morgan as he lugged himself out of the car. Her smile turned to a grin as she watched the vehicle rise once it was free of his weight. Morgan Styles smiled wide, greatly relieved she'd shown up at all. He waved and motioned for her to get out, then stopped and waited as she followed his request. She looked absolutely stunning. "Well, good morning, Miss Thomas!" he offered jovially. "Good morning, sir!" With a hint of tease, she asked: "Did you sleep well?" "I did, indeed. Thank you for asking." Morgan escorted his new assistant to the front doors, fumbled for his keys, and exclaimed, "Ahh, there she is..." finding the right one. He unlocked the door, opened it and stepped to the side, motioning for Miss Thomas to enter ahead of him. She smiled at him, looking directly into his eyes, and walked into the lobby. Morgan dropped his gaze to her sweet little ass rounding through the slim fitting skirt. He took notice again of her shapely legs and those goddamned sexy heels. Might be a hard ride to Flag this morning, he mused, his little dick twitching. Closing the front door, Morgan unconsciously placed his palm flat against her back as he edged around her to find the light switch. He mumbled something about its odd placement behind a chest high filing cabinet next to an opposite doorway, flipped it on and waited momentarily for the florescent bulbs to buzz on overhead. "Ah. There we are...light!" he beamed. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" Miss Thomas offered. "Oh, no...you're fine. Have a seat. I will only be a minute. Miss Gilbert won't arrive until eight. We should be long gone by then." He was quite relieved to not see her this morning and wanted to be gone well before she showed up. "I'll just grab my files and we can be on our way." "Yes, sir." she replied, as Morgan disappeared into his office. When he returned, locking his office door, he waved a hand and motioned to Miss Thomas it was time to go. Smiling with a brief nod, she stood and respectfully waited for his direction. Morgan opened the front door and motioned her to exit ahead of him, which she did, waiting on the step as he locked the door. They walked together to the car and as he unlocked and opened the passenger door for her, she quickly excused herself momentarily to collect her coffee and purse, and lock up her car. He waited patiently, studying her body in exquisite detail. They exchanged smiles again as she lowered herself into his vehicle. She is just something else! What a dream! he mused, looking forward to their long drive through the desert. "Ready, set, little lady?" He asked pleasantly. "Very ready, sir." "I warn you," he said, as he pulled onto the main highway out of town, "this drive can get very tedious. I will do my best not to bore you to tears the entire way." "Oh, Mr. Styles, I don't think I'll be bored at all. It's a lovely drive, actually." Morgan agreed. "It is the first time or two, but eventually the novelty will wear off. We can perhaps get better acquainted along the way." "I look forward to it, Mr. Styles," she replied sweetly. For the first half hour, Morgan Styles went over general job duties and quizzed her as to whether or not the expectations were agreeable. So far, Miss Thomas seemed quite willing to comply. She would answer his cell phone and take messages. She would review his appointments, make sure he was aware of them and kept them on time. She would sit with him in his office and do various odds and ends as needed. She would soon visit his home and help him organize the massive mountain of files and papers strewn about -- something he'd warned her of well in advance, hoping she would not run screaming into the desert. Once she'd felt comfortable with his expectations, she would begin scouting a housekeeping service suitable to his lifestyle. She'd also decided, quite on her own and made the offer, to sit with him and write up a grocery list -- she would shop for him, and she would be glad to make dinner for him at his home when he chose not to eat out. Morgan couldn't help but be impressed. She was a dream come true. He assured her that he'd not had a home cooked meal in years, so he would be delighted to taste anything she offered him. He'd been so impressed by her gesture that he suddenly heard himself offer to let her fix up one of the guest rooms however she liked, for any time she didn't feel like driving home. He assured her complete privacy and run of the home. Miss Thomas smiled and accepted graciously. She seemed so touchingly innocent. He asked more about her and learned that she lived alone in a small apartment in town, had lived in Arizona most of her adult life, and wasn't on good terms with her family back east. She'd sidestepped brutal details and Morgan did not pry. He understood family struggles all too well and explained that he'd also left home early on and trekked west to make his life somewhere else. Morgan never mentioned, nor did it come up, that he had been married or was a widower. That life was now a million miles away. By the time they'd arrived in Flagstaff, he felt he'd known her for years. The rapport had been quite easy and upbeat. While Miss Thomas seemed to easily get his brand of humor and took no offense, she'd also remained quite composed, inherently sweet and dignified, and easily amiable. Morgan was simply bowled over by this new woman appearing out of nowhere. He couldn't get her out of his mind from the moment he saw her. In fact, in spite of himself, he couldn't help wish that she should take some romantic or sexual interest in him. It bothered him to no end that he would ever need to ask her for help finding a woman, or to put himself at her mercy seeking measures to make himself more appealing. He felt she would find him utterly pathetic. He couldn't help relishing the idea all the same of having her to himself, for she was the walking embodiment of exactly the kind of woman he dreamed about and would kill to call his own. Later that morning, Miss Thomas sat in the public section in the courtroom and watched the proceedings with distinct interest. Law and criminal justice had fascinated her, but she was most surprised by her reaction to watching the illustrious Morgan Humphrey Styles defend his client. She had few details of the case, but sat enthralled by Morgan Styles presenting quite a rational and sound defense; so much so that when he'd finished, she was completely convinced the client acted with reasonable grounds of self defense and should be set free. Her chest swelled with pride and admiration. To her further surprise, she found his courtroom manner and ease of legal knowledge beyond impressive. She wondered what his life had been like over the years, how dedicated and diligent he seemed to be, how organized and well rehearsed, that seemed to lend to his being so personally scattered. In spite of her own plans, Miss Thomas genuinely admired the good Mr. Styles, enough so that she decided to make herself indispensable to him, to really help him organize his life much more efficiently. Due to the state's failure to file a motion by the deadline, the court was adjourned for another 24 hours to accommodate the prosecution. Morgan collected his documents and files, placed them into his tattered leather briefcase, snapped it shut and slid it off the defense table. He spoke to a man and woman, and his client -- a tall, slender Navajo man who seemed both nervous and anxious until Morgan patted his upper arm. The client heaved a sigh and nodded with a more relaxed smile. A deputy escorted the client out of the courtroom. People began filing out the doors. Morgan turned around and caught Miss Thomas's eye, smiling pleasantly. She returned the same and stood up. She trailed to the right of him in silence as Morgan and two others left the building, stopping momentarily on the front steps saying goodbyes. The younger man, probably another up and coming attorney, proudly shook Morgan's hand and seemed eager to get in his good graces. Morgan accepted and wished the young man well. When they'd gone, he turned to Miss Thomas, put his hand flat against her mid back and invited her to lunch. She graciously declined, saying that she wasn't very hungry. Morgan asked if she'd prefer to wait until they returned to Karas Cove to pick up lunch and he could show her his lovely but disorganized abode -- she could see what she's in for. Miss Thomas acknowledged that sounded perfect and she could wait to eat a bit later. Morgan obliged, and once again the brown T-bird was on the highway for the long drive back to Karas Cove. Just as they'd gotten out of Flagstaff and the piney forest opened into pastel desert, Morgan asked what she thought about the court session that morning. Miss Thomas smiled with genuine enthusiasm and told him she found it incredibly fascinating, along with her opinion of his client's innocence. Morgan smiled with great pride and thanked her for the vote of confidence. It'd been a long time since a lady had found him interesting. "I'm very sincere, sir. I thought you were quite amazing. I hope to never need you, but if I do, I would feel very safe with you on my side." Her sentiment was most sincere, which he appreciated even more. "You know, you are not required to call me 'sir' all the time. I don't mind if we're on a first name basis, after all. You will soon become most familiar with my disorganized intimate life, so feel absolutely free to address me much more casually, at least privately." he'd told her. "Yes, sir..." she began, smiling at him sweetly. "I just have too much respect and admiration for you, I feel you deserve to be addressed properly. I don't mind at all, Mr. Styles." Morgan looked at her, again feeling great pride and appreciation. "Well, thank you, Miss Thomas. I accept your position, however when you feel more comfortable with me, you call me Morgan...deal?" "Yes, sir...but honestly, I feel incredibly relaxed and comfortable with you already. I just don't want you to feel I'm ever being disrespectful." "Not at all, not at all. I have seen enough since you walked into my office to know that you are a very respectful, polite, and courteous young lady. I am very glad that I'll be having you as my personal assistant." Then, with a sudden curious doubt, Morgan added: "That is, if you truly think you will keep the position." His statement ended as a question. Miss Thomas continued looking at him with genuine admiration. "Sir, I'd love to be with you as long as you'll have me. I appreciate so much that you gave me this position and I promise I will do whatever it takes to be exactly the kind of assistant you need me to be." After a short pause, making sure she didn't blab too much, Miss Thomas continued: "I'm very eager to please you, sir." She punctuated her statement with a smile and bright, wide eyes. Morgan shifted slightly in the driver seat; a smile crossed his lips and his brow raised slightly at the other thoughts that dashed through his mind...his dirty, perverted mind. Oh, how he wished that's what she meant, but he could tell that she was much too proper and innocent to have meant that. Especially that. No, she wanted to make him proud of her, to do good work for him. And he appreciated that a great deal. He would keep his secret desires a secret. To know he wanted her as he did would surely disgust her enough to send her running. Despite his conscious determination to keep his personal desire on the secret side, Morgan compulsively reached his hand across the seat and casually placed it on Miss Thomas's thigh, just above her knee. With a gentle little squeeze, he chuckled. "You're quite the eager beaver, my dear." He glanced at her. She was still looking at him with a smile in her eyes. "I wish all my employees were as eager as you!" Miss Thomas didn't flinch and she didn't recoil when his hand found her thigh. Instead, she sat just as poised as she had been and replied sincerely, "Well, Mr. Styles, I can't speak for the others but I can assure you, I am quite eager to please you in any way I can." Morgan looked at her again, wishing he could take his eyes off the road much longer than a few seconds. "I believe you, Miss Thomas." He'd also noticed that she didn't flinch or recoil. He then wondered when the appropriate time would be to move his hand. He suddenly found himself unsure of decorum now that he'd done it, touched her, though it wasn't too intimate -- still lower than her skirt hem, for sure, but the awareness of her bare flesh against his palm suddenly had him more than a little self conscious. If he moved it too quickly, it would appear juvenile and clumsy. If he left it too long, it would be highly inappropriate and she could take offense. Maybe to accentuate a statement? Yes, he should say something clever, give her another little squeeze and casually remove his hand. "You know, Miss Thomas, I apologize to high heaven but I still do not know your first name." No, that's not quite the right statement. Morgan hadn't removed his hand. "I was so excited to have hired you that I didn't take the time to even review your file. Bad form. I apologize." "No sir, not at all. My name is Nichole." "Nichole...Nichole Thomas...that's a lovely name." His awkwardness was definitely rising. Something needed to be said that would allow him a graceful and discreet release. He wondered if he'd offended her. Perhaps she was uncomfortable and too nervous to just slap the hell out of him, fearing she may lose her newly gotten job? Of course he'd never fire her over that -- it was his careless compulsion that engaged her discomfort. Ahh, that would be a good topic to work with. "Still not comfortable with me to call me Morgan?" he baited. "Not at all, sir. As I said, I feel completely at ease with you. I feel like I've known you my entire life, actually." Morgan smiled. Perfect. "Ahh, then may I ask you a rather personal question? And if it's inappropriate, or should you take offense, please don't hesitate to speak up. Offending you is certainly not my goal." Dirty Mr. Styles "Of course...ask me anything you like. I won't be offended." Steadily, not yet releasing her silky thigh, Morgan made sure his hand remained still. "I can't help but notice that you've not slapped my hand away the last several minutes. If it is because you're uncomfortable and perhaps afraid to say anything, don't be. I would greatly prefer that you are comfortable enough to point out these things should I ever cross any of your personal boundaries." Bumbling, but the point is made. Nichole shifted her right leg and brought her knees together, her inner thigh suddenly and gently brushing against the top of Morgan's fingers. "Actually, Mr. Styles, I'm not the least bit uncomfortable about that, nor am I offended or afraid to say anything. I don't mind that you touch me at all, really. In fact, sir...you can touch me any time you like." Morgan looked over at her, decidedly curious and taken aback, and for a moment, wasn't sure what to say. He was well aware that she'd brought her legs together almost keeping his hand in place. Before he could conclude that had been her intention, she'd casually eased her right leg back to its original position, bent at the knee and solid on her right foot. He glanced at her legs, her smooth, tan, shapely legs and took a breath. Without a doubt, the very idea she didn't mind his hand there filled his cock with desire in a hurry. "Is that so?" He'd exclaimed, mostly in disbelief. "Don't you find it inappropriate of me?" "No, sir, Mr. Styles. I don't." Nichole Thomas shifted slightly and to Morgan's utmost shock, her right leg edged farther to the right. Had she actually spread her legs to him? Nichole looked directly at him with a ready smile: "I like the way it feels. Though, at the risk of being inappropriate myself, I'd have preferred if you put your hand a little higher up than you did." Morgan smiled in curious surprise. "You shouldn't toy with an old man like me, Miss Thomas...that's not nice, you know." For what else could he say? He was completely taken off guard by her sudden boldness. He certainly didn't see that coming. While wrestling with his confusion, he felt the warmth of her hand gently cover his. Smooth, delicate hand and twining slender fingers linked into his own short, meaty digits. Somewhere he felt she should be repulsed. She had to be toying with him. He'd hate to have to defend himself in a sexual harassment suit. "I'm not toying with you, sir," she answered sweetly, and then, to his surprise, braced the seat with a hand and scooted herself even closer to him, taking his hand in hers and moving it slowly upwards along her bare thigh, beneath her skirt until the edge of his palm met the fabric of her panties. "This is more what I had in mind, sir." Nichole did spread her legs wider now, the movement itself causing her skirt to slide high on her thighs. "In fact, Mr. Styles...you can take full liberties with my body any time you desire...if that would please you." No, Morgan Styles was clearly hallucinating. No possible way was this happening, and if it was -- and it was -- it had to be a plot, a joke...she couldn't be sincere. He knew what he was -- a fat, slobby porker...an old coot, a perverted old fuck. No way would this beautiful, shapely, sexy young woman thirty years younger be at all sincerely interested in him touching her anywhere. And the very next day? No, something wasn't right. Not right at all. He was sure of it. But Morgan Styles never moved his hand. Suddenly, he had decided that if she would toy with him so callously, he would at least indulge himself as far as she let him without causing any real drama. Right now, it would be her word against his. And surely no witnesses. Perhaps he could enjoy a little feel of the cagey Miss Thomas. Yes...he most certainly would. Changing tactics and feeling more confident that he had correctly assessed the situation, Morgan grinned with pure lust and answered her offer with his only warning. "Careful, Nichole. I could do terribly dirty things to that sweet little body. Don't tempt me." Still looking at him directly, now with a naughty smile on her red lips, her fingers still locked in his, Nichole turned in the seat to face him more directly and as she did so, placed his full palm flat onto her pussy. "I think I would really enjoy that, sir." White panties, even...silky panties. Perfect little V panel brushing against his hand. Morgan steadied the wheel, gauged traffic -- nobody on the road in sight -- he exhaled a moan and took the initiative to begin rubbing her pussy through the fabric. She purred and leaned back to indulge it. Her eyes were closed, a smile of what appeared to be genuine pleasure on her lips. "It's very difficult to drive this way, my dear." he'd told her. Miss Thomas opened her eyes and gazed sweetly up at him. With one hand, she slipped the top button out of its loop and moved to the next, and the next, until her blouse had fallen open down to the waistline. Leaning up, Nichole pulled open her blouse and exposed her white, lacy bra and tan, smooth mounds for Mr. Styles enjoyment. She was an easy C cup, proportional for her petite frame. "You can always pull over, sir." "Don't tempt me, dear...I'm quite aroused enough to take you up on it, and frankly, I'm not sure what to make of this sudden predicament." Nichole leaned back and drew her knees together up near her chest, at the same time reaching underneath her skirt, looping her thumbs in her panties and sliding them slowly down her perfect legs. With a grin, she slipped them off her feet and tossed them into the floorboard. Morgan watched as long as he could manage before returning his eye to the road, but then he felt a sharp poke in his upper thigh. When he glanced down, the lovely, incredibly sexual Miss Thomas had spread her legs apart and placed her left shoe heel firmly into his thigh. Her bare, shaved pussy was crimson with arousal. She wasn't faking anything at all...she was absolutely turned on. The sight of it had Morgan's little nubby dick hard as steel in a split second, his balls tight. As she softly caressed the full face of her pussy, she purred up at him with a genuine smile. "Touch me, sir...right here..." she whispered out loud and rubbed a finger along her cherry, swollen clit. Morgan swallowed dryly but wasted no time obliging her. His fat little hand moved back to her thigh, edging along, feeling her bare flesh and nearly timidly all of a sudden, made contact with her pussy with the top of his fingers. He could feel her clit tumbling between them - a sensation he'd not felt in years, but that he quickly remembered and relished. Morgan Styles pushed his thumb against her clit and began slow, gentle, rubbing circles. She murmured in pure pleasure, her pussy beginning to pulse. "I'll have a wreck before it's over, dear...I'm a second away from pulling this car over. Is that what you want?" Morgan noticed he sounded like...like her father...a thought that eased to him with wicked delight. With another purring smile, Nichole nodded. "Yes, sir...it is." Morgan Styles drove a bit farther until they reached a pasture road. He slowed the car and eased it off the highway, nose in, facing a rusted iron cattle gate. He put the car in park, leaving the AC running. He could already feel sweat from desire moistening his skin. Having stopped, he slid free of the wheel toward the center and turned ever so in the seat to watch his curiously horny assistant begin to masturbate herself using his hand and fingers. He couldn't help but slide his free hand along her other leg at the calf, stroking it as if it was his throbbing prick. "Mmm...Miss Thomas...that is very sexy..." Morgan breathed in awe and delight. He could now see her slit inviting and open, glistening with her own arousal. Morgan slid his thumb down from her clit and began to rub the fleshy hole, dabbing it in and out, watching for any sign that she was displeased. She wasn't the least bit displeased. He may not have been with a woman in years, but he hadn't forgotten the look, feel, and scent of raw arousal in a woman. Miss Thomas was clearly turned on, no doubt at all. Once he'd slid is fat thumb inside her pussy and felt her muscles clench around it, he knew that she wouldn't be saying no any time soon. Still, he was well aware this seemed to delight her, teasing and using him for her pleasure, so Morgan Styles decided then and there to let her lead the way until she flowed with cum. He would try not to get overanxious to push things. He did, in fact, enjoy this about her. The tight hot cunt hugging his fat little thumb was pure pleasure, or so he thought, until Miss Thomas thrust her pussy into his hand, and pulled two more of his fat, stubby fingers down to her hole. The little minx wanted more? By all means! Morgan Styles retrieved his pussy soaked thumb, turned his palm up and inserted her two chosen fingers, thrusting them deeply inside her, tracing his thumb over her clit. His fingers squeezed together inside her. God, she was perfect. She met his probing fingers with wider legs, gripping his wrist with both hands. Her head flung back, but he could see the smile of lust across her lips, her eyes closed in pleasure. She seemed to like fucking his fingers. After several minutes, Nichole eased up, careful not to turn loose of his fingers in her cunt, and reached in front of her, looking into his eyes. She scooted up closer and began to unbutton his shirt. At first, Morgan Styles felt ashamed, not wanting her to see his ugly, flabby gut. He winced, positive that she would take one look and it would destroy this fabulous gift of a mood. Artfully, without moving his fingers out of her hole, she managed up on both knees beside him and as she unbuttoned his dress shirt, she began to trace her tongue along his chest. Unfortunately, old school attorneys tended to wear old school under shirts and it appeared to be in her way. Undaunted, Nichole kissed and nibbled along his neck, while slipping her hands underneath the shirt, and over his protruding man tits and fat belly, reaching below it to find the zipper of his slacks. Before she found that, she felt his hard erection pushing the fabric upright, and circling her fingers along the shaft of it, began to stroke him through his pants. Kissing his neck, up to his ear, she bit the lobe and breathed warmth into it, "Mmm, you're so nice and hard, sir..." she whispered. "I want to touch you, too." Morgan was breathing heavier now, heavy arousal overtaking him. He answered simply by raising his hips off the seat to unfasten his pants and struggled a bit trying to push them down his fat thighs. His squat, tiny cock bobbed upward and Nichole immediately moved back, taking it in hand. She looked at it as if it was the most beautiful appendage she'd ever seen, even nearly convincing him she took great delight in the visual. He knew he was little, perhaps close to 4 inches fully erect, bulbous head and all, but this young woman of his dreams smiled with genuine adoration, then lowered her head, opened her lips and began wetting it down with her tongue. Oh dear god, that's amazing...he thought, and in a breathy whisper, "that feels amazing...ohh, mmm, yes, yes...so amazing..." Pulling back ever so, kissing the shaft of his little prick, Nichole purred and answered, "I only want your pleasure, sir." Of course, she knew that he was pleased. Morgan smiled, closing his eyes and nodded, "You're nothing but pleasure, dear...I love it." He brushed his fingers through her long, soft silken hair. What an angel...outstanding! In response, Nichole thrust against his fingers, reminding him he'd stopped actively fingering her needful cunt while indulging in her expert sucking and licking. Morgan pushed his fingers deeper inside her and resumed thrusting until she was fucking his fingers, his cock in her mouth in synch. As her head raised, she sucked his dick with firm tugging, darting her tongue around the head, teasing his hole, and then slid her wet mouth down the shaft, taking him into her throat with unsurprising ease. Her hand stroked the shaft and made loose but highly arousing circles around his cock head. Her other hand had finally found his balls and began teasing them with her fingertips. At one point, as she stroked his prick, she began flicking his balls with her tongue. Morgan gasped with pleasure at the intensity. Without realizing it, he'd muttered, "Nichole, I'm so close...so close..." A moan of sheer delight uttered from her throat as she'd slid her mouth down his shaft, a moan he felt through his dick in spades. She sucked him deeper and more passionately, slipping her free hand beneath his balls and making a half successful attempt to find his asshole. Morgan lifted his fat ass off the seat and Nichole was able to slip her fingers down his crack and find his hole. As she fingered it, dipping her tiny digit into his anus, she sucked harder, bobbing wickedly up and down his aching dick, and as she began to move up, she felt Morgan's body tense, his breath stifle, and a groan leave his throat. The pleasure was intoxicating, he'd never had a woman finger his asshole before and it felt unbelievable. His body broke into chills. In a flash, he felt the cum hurl out of his balls, up the shaft and explode out of his dick; in the same flash realizing Nichole did not move away. She sucked down onto his pulsing prick and swallowed every drop of his creamy cum. She was thrusting down on his fingers ever harder and it was all he could do to keep from ramming his stubby fingers up her cunt, though he practically was, in spite of himself. He came furiously, her tiny finger pushing into his anus, her warm, wet mouth sliding up the cock head and licking up all of his jism without stopping until he was spent. She was truly delightfully perfect. Reluctantly, Nichole eased her finger from his asshole, slid her hand up his nuts to hold them while she finished off his spectacular blow job with an affectionate kiss to the head of his increasingly flaccid dick. Morgan leaned his head back and breathed deeply, forgetting again to thrust his fingers in her pussy. She leaned up and kissed the elder man on his cheek. In his ear, "I've pleased you, sir?" "Oh sweet god, little lady, I've not felt this good since I was younger than you! That felt exquisite. Thank you!" His gratitude was sincere. His stubby fingers still lodged in her pussy. He didn't have the heart to move his hand anymore. He could keep her cunt attached to his fingertips until he dropped dead, she was so hot, wet, and tight. He pushed and wiggled them inside her. She giggled and wiggled herself in his grasp and kissed him again. "I think I am going to enjoy our trips to Flagstaff, sir." Morgan smiled. Sir. She could call him whatever the fuck she wanted. "That would certainly please an old horny devil like me. You're a very naughty little lady...I had no idea you would take any interest in me." Nichole squeezed her pussy tightly around his fingers, gazing lovingly at him. She dropped her dainty hand down against his chest, cupping his man tit in it. "Well, sir...we all have needs and desires. I did tell you that I was very eager to please you. In any way you desire," she said, as she traced her fingertip around his nipple; it quickly stiffened. "I'm old enough to be your father, you know." Morgan skirted another of his secret desires. "Mmm...Mr. Styles, yes, know...and I love it," she purred, and ran her tongue along his fat nipple, sucking it into her mouth. Morgan chuckled, "Do you, now? Then again, if I was your father, you surely would never have responded to me this way." Teasingly, she countered: "What if I did? Would you still?" Touchy area with a potential for ugly landmines. Morgan relished the incestuous idea, probably due to his secret desires for sweet younger things. Since she was clearly baiting him with the idea, perhaps she was into a little daddy play? What a lustful thought! "Miss Thomas, if you were my little girl, and you responded to me just this way, I admit it would be very difficult for me to refuse you. Genes or not. You are powerfully enticing." Instead of recoiling in disgust, the idea seemed to delight her. She seemed unconcerned with the taboo as she suckled his man tit in her mouth. Morgan looked at her with curious interest, studying her for any sign of a prank but she seemed quite sincere. Still, he was reluctant to share that depth of his fantasy just yet, though he loved the notion. He didn't fully trust the situation. "It's quite the naughty fantasy, indeed, Miss Thomas. You would be a hard little girl to refuse, that much I can admit." Nichole kissed his cheek. "I loved the way you came for me, sir." "I loved the way you...well, the way you did everything you did." "Any time, sir...any time," she teased. Neither of them seemed to notice the long line of cars speeding by. Morgan caught his breath and smiled, unable and unwilling to remove his fingers from her cunt. "Would you like me to return the favor, Miss Thomas?" "Mmm, yes, I would!" Nichole edged away from him and lay back across the seat. Morgan licked his lips and awkwardly attempted to turn in the seat to reach her dripping pussy with his mouth. Unfortunately, the attempt only reminded him that he was too much of a lard ass to pull it off. With shame, Morgan lowered his eyes and uttered an embarrassed chuckle. "I don't believe I'm able to get a good position in the car. Perhaps we could wait until we're at my home where I could please you properly." "I understand, sir. But may I ask a favor?" She seemed so earnest. "Of course, my dear...anything you want." "Keep your fingers inside me until we're back? It feels so nice." "I'd be delighted." Morgan laughed as he applied the brake and had to shift to reverse without the use of his right hand. Nichole giggled with amusement, but seemed to trust the situation readily. Back on the highway, Morgan drove with his left hand and continued wiggling and thrusting his soaked slick fingers in her pussy. She would writhe and moan, sometimes rubbing her clit and lifting her ass off of the seat to get him deeper. She still had not exposed her full breasts to him, but he could tell easily they would be perfectly smooth orbs with gorgeous nipples that he looked forward to sucking. Since they had crossed a tremendous comfort barrier, Morgan spoke more openly to her, and she reciprocated without hesitation, while still maintaining her sweetly polite "yes sirs" and "no sirs" and... "sirs." He'd asked what prompted her sudden wantonness on the drive back. Nichole had told him that she'd always admired him and wanted to please him. He'd edged closer to his own insecurity and asked the delicate question -- did she not find him rather disappointing, unattractive, considering his weight, and then his age? Not at all, she'd assured him, as she traced her nails lightly along his wrist. She had found him appealing, weight and all, and the urge had overtaken her. She confessed that she'd not been this turned on by a man in years. Perhaps it was a strange to him, but not to her; she truly wanted him. Whatever it was that inspired it, she assured him it was not a passing fancy. If he wanted her, she would belong only to him, willing to do anything he wanted. However, before Morgan could respond, she added one thing more to the unexpected admission. "But what I find myself most interested in, sir, is exploring fantasies together, and fetishes. I know you have dirty fetishes as I do, Mr. Styles and I would love for us to share those with each other, to really push away boundaries and do everything with each other...wouldn't you like that?"