Be F'cked or Be Fired

It was very straightforward as it unfolded. So goddamn sexist. So fricking typical of a male power play dominated workplace. Every rule was broken and then more in every known employee’s code that protects young women from predatory males in the workplace on paper. Christ, this is 2022, not 1922.

Before I entered the big boss’s son’s office on the top floor, I knew I was in a job security freefall. He was the employment manager. Well, as I had heard, what a laugh he was also the secretary pussy manager. A natural sod too at the hiring and firing.

It was brutal as I entered his office and later as he entered me.

It started with: “Sit down, Ms Collins...Ms Jayde Collins...isn’t it?"

Rhetorical bull dung.

Of course, he knew who I was; he had my bloody personnel file open in front of him. Twenty years of age, with the company since college, mmm, yes, two years ago. Status: single. Why do they need to know that? Oh, to fuck you. They would anyway, Miss, Ms, Mrs.

I took the chair opposite his big shiny polished Blackwood executive desk. The only thing on it: was his laptop. The prick swivelled on his plush huge leather exec seat and looked me up and down.

I knew I was okay. Good looking, frickin ace in bed, but this dude wasn’t getting my goodies. My dark hair was in a neat ponytail. My tailored company suit, tight at the waist, my skirt as short as allowable and my bust: no tailored top could hide its copious shape.

He gave me a moment to cross my legs. My staff meeting habit, I suppose. But it reveals more thigh.

“I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Your performance review was lousy, and you have a simple choice right now: be fucked or be fired” it rolled off his tongue too easily: the prick.

“Oh, I choose the fuck”, I said, getting up and walking around his desk.

Mr Sean Peterson would want to keep me in the building by the time I finished with him. I had no mental qualms: as I rapidly said in my head: Fuck my apartment mortgage, screw my credit card debt and shaft my arrears with my car payments: so close to repossession. And now some dick wanted to take my job.

I gave him a job instead. I loosened my hair and had my lips doing a job on his released cock. His head was quickly back, groaning. His cock head in my mouth. I knew cock. I knew male head. I sucked his cock how he didn’t realise it needed to be sucked until now. I could have blown him away and had him spurting like a frickin whale: yeah, I was that good. I'm not as good at company accounts, but I was skilled as a woman, where it counted. Really counts.

It’s simple: I just released the Jezebel in me over a cock head.

“Oh My God”: was all he managed before grunting and groaning: my work ethic with cock was first class.

I kissed his cute, aroused tip. I licked under his glans. His male sensitive spot, where a guy will promise you everything but usually not keep it; but it was my hands cupped around his balls and shaft base and licking slowly from the base to the top, over and over, that started to save my job.

Then with his shaft in my mouth after the expected ups and downs, my tongue was twisting and twirling around his cock in my flexi accommodating mouth. My lips shaped to his shaft. His balls sucked and licked too. Then I just tugged him, better than he could do himself because I had slender girly fingers for my cock massage and nails to gently scratchy tease his pecker and balls.

Of course, I eventually took his cock deep, so frickin deep. He just gasped. And gasped. He was ready to fire. He was ready to fuck. Be fucked and fire: he was getting both.

I let him strip me like he was removing a wrapper from a candy. And boy was I a candy bar made to be licked. I gave him my tits. My beautiful big generous tits. I guided his pecker between my tits. I could see the arsehole had never had the pleasure of a titty fuck, and I had his stiffness wrapped between two awesome girly fun-bags.

My pussy was his next play zone, across his large desk. The smooth polished surface of the wood was stunning and magnificent: but incomparable to my exposed shaved girly bits. Yeah, I had a pussy to die for. Shapely intriguing uneven lips, no slit symmetry, no butterfly shape; just a big lip, a small lip, and a popper of a clit. The sort of delicate impelling flesh guys don’t usually get to see; so unique: so, me and loaded with my womanly scent, a musky perfume released on cue for him.

The cheeky sod went lick crazy. I was wet so quickly. My big clit made it straightforward for me to get it off in the girly moan zone. And to give him credit, the sod knew what to do between my thighs. I knew how to press my cunt into his face for mutual enjoyment. As his fingers wandered to play with my arse, I was fine. He was a high-quality back crack manipulator.

It was, however, time, though, to assert womanly control. The world is for women through their pink oysters. I guided him onto the desk. I poised my open pussy over the tip of his penis. I played with his cock head at my wet opening. I drove him pussy needy crazy. Then I rode him, squatting over his manhood. He had the luxury of watching his cock be treated as a god. I speared down on his cock. My tightness shaped him, ball deep. I rose off his pecker, shaping it, tugging it upwards with my tightness, arching slightly back for the delicious angle of fulfilment for self and his best view of my treats.

I moaned like a she-wolf, near animalistic howls, the prick Sean liked it. Oh, he imagined screwing me, the prick, probably even taking my arse, but he never imagined this; his cock on the rollercoaster ride of a lifetime, spearing sheafed, drawn pussy upwards, enveloped in girly fluid frictional wetness.

God, I’m good. God, I feel good, and this guy will bust his balls if I keep going at this pace.

I’m off him, his pole so glistening male rigid. Still ready for more. He’s thinking my arse, and he’s right. I suspect he was thinking the table, bending me over it, and dogging my arse.

I lead him to the vast expansive window viewing Sydney harbour and city, storeys below. I press into the glass. I allow him to push into me from behind. I raise one leg so he can ply my arsehole with his fingers. Do his dirty best at prepping my needy slut whore crack.

I spread my legs, triangled out, my arms triangled up, pinned to the glass like a specimen, but he was only interested in licking my arse. His tongue pampered my sweety, sweet arsehole. My tightness gave just a bit as it was tongue ravished. He got his tongue tip right in my butt hole. My hands squeaked and smudged down the large glass pane, but my spit-smeared arse dominated me.

He lifted my leg, and he pushed into me. My body squished against the plate glass. Fuck he’s good, a dedicated anal prober of the highest echelon. He inched in. He inched in. I felt the delectable strain at my opening, so intense. Then my arse held cock, was filled with cock, and moved in a pattern of shared pushing with arse cock lust.

“Fuck my arse harder, you prick”, I demand: “Fuck my arse as hard as you can.”

Of course, a guy wants to hear this, and he ram raided my arse; but I could take it.

He positioned me side onto the window. I was bent outrageously over like a sex doll, my legs tight together, making our joining the best possible squeeze, rigid stiffness trapped in my tight unyielding arse—flesh giving pleasure to two: in unsustainable waves.

I was fully arse fucked as Sean fired his jizz load in my happy butt...

The rest was very straight forward too. Sean gave me a thrice-weekly review which I always passed; in his office. Monday for a head job. Wednesday my pussy and Friday, yeah, make him wait and appreciate it: my arse. My car, too, was, with no real mystery, fully paid off for me.

Yeah; workplace stalking took on a new name: ME: as I got access to Sean’s old man’s office: the big boss: and as I walked in fully naked, I said:

“Mr Harold Peterson, meet your new female Senior Executive.”

The old bastard talked business after the best pussy and arse he had had in years.

Oh, he only needed me on Thursdays.

I alternated between the new temp girls and the dealers on the fourteen floor on Tuesdays.

Always telling anyone I met: “Fuck me or be fired.”

People like to fuck; yeah, everyone actually wants to fuck.