An Assistant Ch. 04

The following Monday was the first hot day of spring. After my morning meeting, I was back in my office with my top three buttons undone, my sleeves rolled up, and my stocking feet up on my desk. My assistant, Molly, had cracked the window just before I got back so that sweet, cool air now washed over us. Molly was standing on the other side of the desk, holding up one of my shoes and brushing it dry with a rag. The other sat dirty on a sheet of newspaper spread out on the desk between us, beside an unopened tin of shoe polish. She had decided to go for spit-and-polish to avoid messing up her pretty white sundress.

I was a very lucky man. I knew that cleaning her boss's shoes before a meeting--even an important client meeting like I had that afternoon--would have been above-and-beyond for most personal assistants, but Molly was more than willing. In fact, she volunteered. Then again, Molly was no ordinary PA. She had only noticed my scuffed shoes when she was on her knees in front of me, first thing that morning...

We had unfortunately run out of time before I could deposit a weekend's worth of pent up arousal onto her eager tongue, so for the second week in a row I had spent the weekly strategy meeting uncomfortably erect under the boardroom table. In the fantasies that Molly and I were spinning out together, her 'special responsibilities' were supposed to relieve me of sexual tension and corresponding workday distractions. In actual fact, the opposite was happening. It had been decades since I had felt this... Well, there was no other word for it than 'horny.' The more encounters we had, the more I craved her. And it was increasingly clear that there just was not enough time or privacy at the office to have nearly as many encounters as either of us wanted. At least I knew for certain that Molly had it worse.

Molly had not had an orgasm for over three months at that point, a state of affairs that I was now complicit in, but that she had initiated entirely on her own. Orgasm denial was just one of her many submissive fantasies, which were among the reasons--and I felt a little tinge of shame admitting it--that I had originally hired her. As far as I knew, Molly had only ever explored those fantasies online before we met. My suspicion was based on her online profile 'your_perfect_girl,' which she had accidentally revealed to me in her job application by slipping up and uploading one of her many nudes, instead of a headshot. I had made sure that HR never saw that photo and half-heartedly resisted going back to profile... Well, I held out for a few minutes. Her username was right there! Perhaps I shouldn't have... And then telling her, right as she finished her three-months probation... I told myself that I was giving her an out, that she deserved to know that I knew if we were going to keep working together, but I knew that was a lie. I didn't want to protect her. I wanted her.

And she had just... Given herself to me. The 'her' that I received was still the same fantastic personal assistant I had known through her probation period--diligent, intelligent, much more of an adult than I expected from a pretty twenty-something--mingled completely with the, ah, adult version that I saw online. I knew that Molly had challenged herself not to orgasm for the whole three months of her probation, so when she handed over the responsibility of ending her denial to me, the implication was clear that she did not want the end to come too soon. I had generously set a date, the now upcoming Friday, April 26, when she might be able to cum, but the emphasis was truly on 'might.' Some cruel, dominant impulse that she brought out of me had also set her a near-impossible challenge to earn that long-awaited orgasm: 250 edges, completed somewhere at the office, over the 8 intervening workdays, 9 to 5.

On that warm Monday morning, there were now only 5 of those workdays left. To her credit, Molly had completed 72 of her 'tasks' by end-of-day Friday. And now, by locking herself into my empty office while I was at my meeting, she had managed to reach 85. That was still just shy of the 30-plus she would need each day to meet her goal. I had been fantasizing a little bit about what would happen at the end of the week if she did not get to 250. Would it be good enough to just set a new date, a new target? Or something more? In business, there were usually consequences for missing a deadline. I had spent the weekend putting some plans in motion, practicing some new skills, just in case...

And 30 edges a day was not an insignificant number. Molly and I had not discussed it--it was not our style to break the veneer of office professionalism--but I could tell that the near-constant masturbation was effecting her. Each look was more significant, a bit more eager. She kept finding little reasons to come into my office when I was alone, or to put her body close to mine. And, while her work was still getting done, it was getting done a lot slower. The only job that seemed to interest her was the one I had her performing on me that morning on her knees, as if feeling my orgasm in her mouth would somehow soothe her own aching denial. As if... I could not help thinking.

But servicing me was an outlet of a sort, and over the weekend, with that outlet unavailable to her, the pent-up desperation needed to find somewhere else. Naturally, she had returned to her old haunts online, and returned with a vengeance. Leaning back in my chair, I had my phone out in my hand, scrolling through the dozens of pictures that she had posted to her account in just 48 hours. "This is quite the photoshoot you did," I mused out loud.

Molly just blushed back at me. "Yes, Sir." Coming back from the meeting that morning, I had caught her lying on my office couch, one heel on the carpet, the other on the flat leather armrest, and her fingers working furiously under her skirt. She had scrambled to cover herself again when I opened the door, clearly embarrassed at being discovered, and even quickly volunteering to clean my shoes had not cleared that feeling entirely. I shook my head and grinned. It was funny what got a reaction out of her. The photos she had willingly posted online seemed so much more compromising.

"I like this one." I flashed Molly the picture I was looking at. Although she had carefully cropped out her eyes, this picture showed much more of her face than she had ever posted before. She was framed in profile in front of her bedroom mirror, with a teal dildo stuck to the glass by its suction cup base. Kneeling, Molly had the whole silicon length down her throat so that her nose was scrunched against the mirror's surface and her pretty face was blotchy and contorted with exertion. A long string of frothy white saliva dripped out between the sex toy's tight, molded scrotum and her bruised lower lip. Some previous drool had landed on her chest, where it had turned the white shirt translucent to reveal the pink curve of her breast, the black ridge of her bra.

Molly glanced quickly at the picture on my phone, then looked away and back down at my shoe just as fast. At first I thought she had not seen it, but then, wordlessly, as if to mimic the image on the screen, she let a tendril of saliva dribble out between her lips and onto the black leather of its toe. If this was supposed to tease me, it worked. I felt something hard and angry throb in my lap. "I wanted to practice for you, Sir," she said, rubbing the saliva in vigorously with a rag. "You know... I want to take all of you."

I nodded and read the caption. "'Training my throat for Daddy.'" It was hard not to let a little tenderness colour my voice. She was so good to me. "But I..." I hesitated. Molly and I had talked about deepthroat training, but I had not set her any in the end. "But I like it when you gag on me."

"Really, Sir?" For the first time since I had caught her on the couch, Molly looked me in the eye, a little bemused, a little eager, needy.

"Yeah," I mused. "So enthusiastic and... But innocent at the same time, you know?" I studied the photo again for a moment. "Too innocent to keep up with your fantasies. I like that."

"That's very..." Molly's voice was soft with happy surprise. The rag sat still against my shoe for a moment. "Thank you, Sir." She considered my shoe silently from a few angles, then judged it finished and picked up the dirty one.

I kept scrolling and settled on another picture that showed a daring amount of her face. This one had her lying in bed, wearing nothing but a black choker necklace, knees together and pulled to one side, almost demure. Her body was covered in writing, thick black letters against her rosy skin. I smiled at 'EDGE' and 'SLUT' written upside-down across the top of each of her thighs. I had first marked her with those words myself, a week before. 'WHORE' across her face also stood out, with her parted, lipsticked lips standing in for the 'o.' The rest of the words were written in smaller letters--'cum on me' on one breast, 'smack me hard' on the other, 'pin me down' on her round, smooth belly, and a dozen other little phrases all over her body--but I found myself looking back again and again to one single word, written in the smallest print of all, just 'daddy's' in dainty rounded letters below the soft pooch of her tummy, with an arrow pointing down through her golden pubic hair.

"'Daddy's'..." I read softly. Molly's only response was a smile directed down at my shoe. After a moment, I smiled too and scrolled to a third photo. She was still in bed. The camera had moved down her body, zoomed in, her knees were parted, and... "Oh, Molly," I said softly. I could still read 'daddy's' above that tangle of hair, but her newly spread thighs revealed the base of her suction-cup dildo, the blue-green silicon standing out against the white bedsheets. It was clearly pressed right up inside her. I looked up across the desk. You could hear my cock's painful, jealous pang in my voice. "Were you fucking my cunt without permission?"

"Maybe, Sir." Molly's voice was raspy. She kept her eyes away from mine and kept blinking, like she had to keep pushing some thought out of her mind to stay focused on the task at hand. The cloth moved across the leather of my shoe without the same decisive precision as before. I checked the clock on my phone as my cock throbbed again impatiently. Yes, we had plenty of time before the meeting. I had some prep to do, but I could put Molly under my desk at the same time, which meant I could keep teasing her a little bit longer while she finished her shoeshine job. Perfect. I swung my feet off my desk and replaced them with my phone, face down, swivelling in my chair to face Molly directly.

"I think you need a reminder," I continued, still in that stern growl. I could feel my eyes narrowing hungrily as I looked at her."Of who owns that little pussy."

Her response was quick, breathless, the words all a-tumble. "You do, Sir." Her breasts were rising and falling, hot, heavy, panting breaths escaping her open mouth. The complex bodice of her dress, with its puffed nearly-off-the-shoulder sleeves and low neckline held tight with a tie across her cleavage, left little to the imagination.

"That's what you wrote." I gestured at the phone. "'Daddy's.' But I'm not sure that's good enough, if you're going to keep playing with yourself and posting pictures all over."

"No, Sir." Punctuation, more than a contradiction. There was no 'no' in her voice at all.

"If you're really giving it to me to keep," I continued, leaning forward across the desk. "Then I'm going to need to mark it."

"Yessss," she breathed, the long sibilant 's' hanging in the air until the clunk of leather on wood interrupted it. Molly was staring into space, focused entirely on the fantasy. My shoe had slipped from her grasp onto the desk in front of her.

"Just writing 'Daddy' on it isn't good enough. I could barely see where that arrow was pointing. Here's a new rule..." Molly's eyelids fluttered. "My pussy... You're sure it's mine, Molly?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And I can use it however I want?"

"Yes, Sir."

"But all that hair is in the way..." I leaned low across the desk, my heart beating hard.

Molly gasped gently, caught my eye, unblinking. "You... The new rule..."

"Smooth, bare," I replied, holding her gaze. "Just so you remember who owns it."

Her eyes were so wide, her voice, so soft. "Yes, Sir."

"And I mean 'smooth.'" I thought back to some of her older posts. "No stubble..."

Molly nodded once, a deep, full acquiescence. "Of course, Sir." She was still feet away, but I had never felt so connected to her. "I'll go get it wax--ah!"

A single, sharp knock on the door interrupted her, followed immediately by the click of it opening. My eyes swung up over Molly's shoulder as I froze with shock. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Why hadn't we locked it? In walked Carl Boehner, the gregarious blonde Midwesterner who led the sales team that shared our floor. He had a laptop clutched under his arm awkwardly, more focused on the half-finished apple he kept tossing and catching as he walked towards us.

"Hey, Dan," he said, spraying pulp. He swallowed and his tone softened slightly. "Molly." She sighed and glanced at him quickly as he reached the desk. "Whatcha getting waxed?"

Shit.

Molly didn't miss a beat. "His car," she said casually, flicking her chin towards me with her eyes locked on my shoes. She set them straight beside each other on the newspaper and brushed the cloth lightly over their surfaces, as if chasing final flecks of dust.

Carl grinned and looked down at the motion of her hands too, then looked significantly at me, eyebrows raised. "Ahhh, he's letting you take the roadster out? An honour."

With panic still dry in my mouth, I could not exactly read Carl's tone. "I have a lunch," I spluttered. Now Molly shot me a look. "Ahh, ahh, Molly's taking my car while I'm out."

Molly looked away with a tiny shake of her head and pushed my shoes towards me across the desk. I got the impression I had said something wrong, but there was no criticism in the perky voice she put on. "Two birds with one stone!"

All for Carl's benefit, clearly. He took a final, thoughtful bite out of the apple and tossed the core--there was still plenty of meat on it--into the wastepaper basket. I doubled over gratefully to retie my shoes. "That's a big deal, Molly," I heard him tease, with my head under the desk. "The Miata's his baby."

I could almost hear Molly roll her eyes. At least he seemed to be buying her story. "What can we help you with, Carl?"

Carl was nodding and pulling open his computer as my head came up from under the desk. "Yeah," he started. "I've got some numbers to..."

"Can it be an email?" I stood up. I could pass off my nerves for impatience, right? "Molly, our coats?"

She nodded once to me, smile softly, and turned on her heel. Carl closed his laptop again with a click as I rounded my desk to follow her. "Yeah, absolutely, uhh." He sounded a little off guard. "What time are you going to be back?"

A very good question. I looked at the lockscreen of my phone as I walked away and made an exaggerated little shrug. "I mean, I don't..." My 2 o'clock was back here at the office. It was 11:30 now.

My hesitation allowed Carl to regain his composure. "And who's the lunch with?" I grinned at the little competitive note in his voice behind me. Salesmen.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Molly teased back. She ducked out of the doorframe to let me out, with her purse slung over her shoulder and our jackets bundled under her arm.

Carl gave a good-natured laugh behind us and we were off together, Molly keeping pace with my longer strides down the hall towards the elevator. She looked back up at me when I looked down. She had a faint little smirk on her face.

"So," I said once we were alone together in the elevator.

"I don't think he did, Sir," Molly said, answering my unspoken question.

"Carl?" I looked at her again for confirmation.

She shook her head. "So where are we getting lunch?"

"I think the question is, where am I getting lunch? You volunteered to get the car washed."

"Oh." Her voice had suddenly shrunk down to a whisper. "Yes, Sir." Silence through the rest of the elevator ride, the click of her heels a pace behind me through the garage, until we were walking up to my car, when Molly hooked her arm through mine and pulled her body close against my side. "Sir?"

I looked around anxiously. Thankfully, there was no one else in the garage. "Yes, Molly?"

"I don't think I can take your car."

"Why's that?"

"I..." She hesitated. "I can't drive."

I laughed out loud. "You can't drive?"

"I mean..." Molly huffed, disentangling herself from my arm and dropping back again to stop a few feet away from my parking space. Laughter was maybe not the right response. "I have my license, but..."

"You can't."

"I just never do. I live in the city! None of my friends drive either!"

I looked at her for a moment, then turned to consider the Miata. It had been steel grey when I bought it, then dark blue, then yellow, and now a cherry red that I still was not satisfied with. It was a sexy colour, sure. It just drove home the cliché a little too hard. But what else was a bachelor in his fifties supposed to spend his money on?

I turned back to Molly, hesitated a moment more with the keys in my hand. She caught them with little effort when I tossed them to her. "Let's skip lunch."

"What?" She asked incredulously as I walked around to the passenger side.

I grinned at her over the roof as I opened the passenger door. "You need a driving lesson."

***

Molly's anxiety proved a bigger hurdle than her inexperience. It took us twenty minutes to get out of the parking garage, but twenty minutes after that we had left the city centre and were gently cruising down one of the wide, leafy boulevards that led out to the suburbs. We had perfect conditions for a driving lesson. At this time of day, there were not many people out on the roads, which were bone dry and clear after a week of sunny weather. A red light turned green in front of us and I felt myself wince, but it was premature. Molly was finally getting the feel of the car beneath her and accelerated smoothly into the intersection. I smiled, relaxed, looked over at her. "You're doing great."

"What was that, Sir?"

"I said, 'You're doing great.'"

Molly whipped her head over to look at me as we cleared the intersection, smiling the biggest, easiest smile that I had ever seen on her. "Thanks, Sir, I..."

"Eyes on the road, Molly," I said, happy to assert some authority. "Take this next exit on the right."

I watched her eyes follow the sign nervously as it whipped by. "But, Sir, that's for the interstate!"

"I know, Molly," I said. I put my hand on her knee reassuringly. "You've got this... Now you're coming up to speed... Good girl."

"Sir, what are you doing?" Now her eyes darted down to follow my hand from her knee to the dash as I leaned over.

"Don't worry, just pay attention to the road."

I admit to sharing Molly's obvious trepidation as she merged cautiously onto the freeway and the little electric motor whirred behind us, but it could not last. When the retractable roof made its final clunk into place and the nearly empty road opened up in front of us, the wind whipping through Molly's copper curls seemed to carry the last of her nerves with it. I grinned, looked at her, and she flashed a smile back, a huge, exhilarated smile, her laugh lost in the rushing air around us. The air pressed her dress back against her body too, showed every perfect curve tight under the rippling white fabric, made me thrum along with the engine.

While I drank in the sight of her body, more alive than I had ever seen it, Molly shocked me. She settled back in her seat with her hands easy at perfect driver's-ed ten-and-two and I felt the Miata surge underneath us. The speedometer clicked up and up, but still Molly leaned on the accelerator. She threw her head back in a silent laugh again as we crested a rise, leaned off the gas, let us coast down the other side. I laughed too, looked over at her and relished this moment of easy joy, the wind flushing her cheeks red and the sun glittering in her hair.

"Where are we going, Sir?" Molly shouted over the wind.

I looked around us. To our right, the denser inner suburbs had already given way to rolling, forested hills. I wanted to keep going forever, but... "Nowhere!" I shouted back. "You can take the next exit." Molly nodded, eying her opportunity. She merged into the right lane again, took her exit confidently, slowed. "Just find a spot to turn around."

Molly nodded again and narrowed her eyes intently. "I know a spot." There was a playful little note in her voice. We wound further down this little country road. The sound of the freeway grew quieter and quieter behind us, with leafy trees waving their branches above us and dappling the sun.

With a sigh of resignation, I pulled out my phone and looked at the time. Our meeting was coming up fast... "Whenever you like, Molly," I said, not really meaning what I was saying.

"Just a little further, Sir." The blinker clicked politely, even though we had not seen another driver since the interstate, then gravel crunched under the Miata's wheels as she pulled us off the road.

"Where are you taking us?"

"Like I said..." She gestured with her chin out the windshield. "I know a spot."

We wound down the little gravel drive and the trees arched thicker and thicker over us, blocking even the road behind us from view and in front of us framing a patch of blue. A little lakeside spot, our gravel path leading right down to a sandy patch on the shore. Molly slowed us to a stop in the little clearing before the tiny beach and looked at me, smiling with quiet, expectant pride.

"Put it in park," I said after a beat. "Engine off."

"Oh!" Molly scrambled at the keys. The car lurched as she finally pulled her foot off the brake. The engine pinged, the wind rustled in the trees, and birdsong washed over us. For a moment, I looked out at this beautiful place where Molly had taken us, until an email buzzed in my pocket, calling me back from my reverie. I pulled out my phone, looked at it blankly, tossed it on the dash. There was something much more pressing thrumming against my thigh, something much more beautiful out there flashing in the sun, and in the seat beside me, her pretty voice gently calling me, like the birds, like a bird's... "Sir..."

I tore my eyes away from the shimmering water through the trees. Molly had unbuckled her seatbelt and turned her whole body towards me. Was that flush over her cheeks still just from the wind? Her lips were gently parted and her chin was pulled slightly down so that she looked at me steadily through her long eyelashes. The look on her face was pleading, almost apologetic in its insistence, confirming what I had already guessed. There could only be one reason why she had taken me out here to this secluded corner of paradise. A tense energy still hung in the air between us, but the initiative she had seized with Carl and on the freeway had drifted back to me once her foot was off the accelerator. I smiled and unbuckled my seatbelt as well. "Did you like your driving lesson?"

"Oh!" I heard her voice behind me as I opened my door and swung my feet out onto the grass. The driver's-side door clunked shut and Molly hurried around the car. "Thank you for the lesson, Sir."

"We're not done yet. Come here." And she came to me there on the passenger side, still just sitting there with my feet braced on the grass so that I could lean forward out the open door. I caught her wrist as she hurried up and pulled her down to me, unresisting, kissed her deep. After a moment, I let her straighten up, panting, and grabbed my jacket from the back seat, still holding her tight with one hand. "A better thank you..." I panted back. "Another lesson..." I threw the jacket on the ground between us.

Molly needed no further direction. I released my hold on her arm and she sank to her knees in front of me with a grateful coo, like this was the most natural motion in the world. Her hands rested lightly against each of my thighs, warmer than the sun. "Please, Sir..." Molly breathed, with wide, upturned eyes. I could feel her pulse through her palms, syncing with mine. "Thank you, Sir..."

"This weekend," I replied, trying to steady my breath. I needed her to finish what she had started that morning, needed it so badly, but not yet... "You tried to practice without me." My fingers wove into her hair and I pressed her unresisting head forward to rub her cheek up and down the angry ridge under my trouser leg. My other hand brushed hers away when she reached for my belt. "No. Greedy girl. This is why Daddy needs to teach you." I locked my fingers tight in her hair, gave her a moment to realize what I was doing, then pulled her face back so that her wide, cock-drunk eyes could meet mine. "Do you want Daddy to teach you?"

Molly's gaze shimmered with lust. "Uh-huh," was all she could reply through the fog in her brain.

"Then open your mouth." Her wet lips parted dutifully and I could feel her breath catch with excitement when my spit hit her outstretched tongue. "First lesson, Molly," I continued as she swallowed my saliva. "Daddy only uses nice, wet holes." My free hand came down so that the palm rested on her upturned chin and the tip of my middle finger on her lower her lip. "Nice and wet, do you hear me?"

Molly managed a gurgling "Ugh-hguh" of assent as her enthusiastic little nod helped my finger slip deeper and deeper down her wet tongue.

"Good girl. Show me." Her lips closed around me, well above the second knuckle, my fingertip at the twitching entrance to her throat. "That's it." I began to pull out. "Only wet holes." In again. "Now give me your panties."

This last command seemed to take her by surprise. She had to lean her cheek against my thigh again for balance to comply, but she complied readily, ignoring the finger that slid deeper down her throat as she shifted position and shimmied her underwear off as quickly as she could under her dress. The last motion seemed to be the worst or maybe her attention just came back to the intruder pressing deeper and deeper into her throat... As she finally had her panties bundled in her hand, she gagged around my finger and pushed back hard against the hand that cradled the back of her skull. "S-sorry, Sir," she gasped with streaming eyes, as soon as her mouth was empty.

Her apology met no response except a firmer grip in her hair. The finger that she had expelled from her throat caught her proffered underwear through a leg hole. As I had come to expect after her long denial, the pretty white lace was dark and messy with arousal. "That's what I like... Nice and wet. Now open up..."

"What? No, Sir, I thoug-ghhg..." Opening her mouth to protest was a mistake. I left about half the fabric dangling out of her lips, partially out of concern for her breathing, partially because the visual was that much more depraved. I leaned back to admire my handiwork as Molly's round blue eyes steamed at me. I had not noticed her mascara until it started smearing just now.

"What? Doesn't that taste good?" I teased.

Molly shook her head 'no' with narrow, pouty eyes. The loose bit of lace wagged against her lips.

I laughed. If she was really so unhappy with this mouthful, well, her hands were free... She shuffled a little closer on her knees and reached for my belt again. "Oh, no, Molly." I proffered her my right foot. "You were almost done shining my shoes when Carl interrupted us." She scowled in confusion. "And telling me who owns that wet little hole between your legs."

Molly's wide eyes showed that she understood me. For a moment she hesitated, then she complied, rising up on her knees and shuffling forward a bit more. I got a brief flash of skin as she used both hands to lift her white skirt over my outstretched shoe. The small flutter of arousal I had at the sight was overwhelmed by a deeper arousal, a thrill of domination as I felt her heat press down on my outstretched toes and nearly burn me through the smooth, clean leather. She placed both hands on my knee for balance and gingerly, gingerly began rubbing herself against my shoe. "You can do better than that, Molly." She closed her eyes and started increasing her speed. "What if I let you count any edges you do? Even though we're not in the office?"

"Urrgh," Molly gurgled through her stuffed mouth. I had gotten her attention. The motion of her hips increased steadily until the Miata was rocking on its wheels, Molly's eyes pressed as tightly shut as they would go.

"That's what I thought, you greedy little whore." The words came tumbling out of me, all the words that Molly had used to caption her photos online and some that I dredged out of previously unplumbed depths of my imagination. "It makes me so happy to have a depraved little doll who will put on whatever show I want, and not even for an orgasm, just for an edge. That's why I'm keeping you denied, did you know that? Little whores like you put on such good shows when they're denied." I paused thoughtfully. "And maybe you'll learn some self-control."

This was a new sensation for Molly and it was taking her longer to edge than I had expected, not that I was complaining. I had meant what I said about the show. There was no angle for her to fuck my foot like this that did not bring her round belly into contact with my leg, and her soft breasts brushed my knee as she bounced her hips against me. Now and then, I could peak down the top of her dress, too, but that pretty white bow across her cleavage was unfortunately getting in the way of my view...

Molly's eyes opened at the sensation of my fingers pawing at the knot. Only slowing her hips slightly, she helped me untie the little bow and immediately the bodice jiggled open, with the sleeves slipping down slightly. The bra underneath matched the panties bouncing against her chin. I gave an inarticulate little grunt in the back of my throat and pulled her bra down too, one sharp tug. If Molly did not like the way the tangled straps now pinned her arms to her sides, she did not show it. Instead, she closed her eyes again and began building her tempo back up.

Through the haze of my arousal, it struck me dimly that this was the first time I had seen Molly's bare breasts in person. The were perfect, round, pale in the sun, with hard, upturned pink nipples that made perfect circles in the air as she rocked against me. I reached out with one hand and cupped one, then the other, soft for a moment, then the savagery of my desire for her killed the tenderness in my touch and I was mauling her. My fingertips dug into the bouncing flesh of her left breast, scrabbling up to catch her nipple and hold it still between thumb and forefinger, letting her own motion tug it mercilessly up and down. The sharp new sensation did not slow her down. Molly's eyes stayed clasped tight, focused, even as something that could have been a squeal of pain caught in her sodden gag.

"What was that, pet?" The muscles around her eyes made an inscrutable little twitch as I released my grip on her nipple. It took two tugs on the dangling lace before her teeth loosened enough for me to pull the panties free. A frothy tendril of thick, back-of-the-throat saliva followed them, only breaking from the dripping fabric as I tossed them into the back seat.

Molly hung her head and coughed. "Tha-thank you, Sir."

"I just needed something," I said noncommittally. "Very good, very wet..." I ran two fingers along her slippery lower lip and held them up, a long, sticky string dangling in front of her nose. "This is what you do on my cock, see?" Drips were falling from my fingers onto her bouncing breasts as she nodded, nearly cross-eyed with the focus my wet little trophy seemed to demand from her. "As messy as possible." My fingers ducked down now and rubbed the mess into her breasts, paying special attention to the left nipple I had just been abusing.

"Ah!" Wetting her sensitive skin had exactly the desired effect. Her breasts bounced in the cool breeze and shimmered in the warm sun as she continued her little show for me, fucking herself diligently against my shoe under her skirt. "Ah!" Molly gasped again.

"I know, Molly, I know... You didn't want the panties in your mouth. You wanted something else..." I moved my fingers back up under her downturned lips and she sucked them greedily in, two this time, swirling her tongue around their tips in time with the motion of her hips. "But I needed to teach you... I'll give you what you want as soon as you reach that edge for me, you desperate little shoe-humping edgeslut..."

Molly was bucking against me uncontrollably now. Could that be her hard little clit that I could feel through an eighth-of-an-inch of stiff leather? She would have to be as hard as I was, then, I thought to myself. I could feel her softening around my fingers, stiffening against my calf, stiffening, and then the begging began. "Please, please, pleeeeeeeas-suh-suh-Sir, Sir, I can't stuuhhh-op-puh-lease, oh!"

I let her keep riding, considering the timbre of her pleas as they grew more and more pathetic, more and more depraved. I needed to choose my moment carefully. I needed her to believe her pleading could just maybe work. Right at what I judged to be her peak, my hands came firmly down on her shoulders to hold her in place just as my foot pulled away. Molly shuddered once, tried to pull herself forward onto my shoe again, and then, when that desperate attempt proved impossible, crumpled backwards into the grass, catching herself awkwardly with one tangled hand and breathing hard. I had never felt her reach the edge of orgasm so suddenly or so violently, never seen her so desperate to disobey and slip over the brink.

For the first time since I had gagged her, she looked me in the eye. The look was hard to read. She bit her lower lip, her cheeks were redder than I had ever seen them, and in those wet blue eyes, an expectant, wary tension. I waited for her to break the silence, which she seemed wary to do, but eventually, tentatively, still holding my gaze: "That was..."

"Intense," I offered.

"Dirty," but finally a little glimmer of a smile. "Humiliating... Humping your leg like a literal dog..."

"Oh, you think that's embarrassing?" I leaned back, reaching into the back seat.

As I did so, my foot levered up between her legs and bumped something wet and sensitive. "Ah, Sirrrrr!" And then with a bit more desperation in her voice when she saw what I was pulling from her purse: "Sir? Sir!"

I did not need to unlock her phone to use the camera. "Hold still, Molly," was all I said and thankfully she did, only huffing once as I framed my photo. I needed to get her chin, but not her eyes, her bare breasts with that one bruised nipple, and of course my leg disappearing between her splayed knees. The way her pretty white skirt bunched over my ankle, demure and depraved at the same time, made it hard to focus on anything else. "Just pretend you're humping me again. That's it, good girl..." No flash in this bright sun. I took two more for luck and passed her the phone. "Post the one you like best and we can continue your lesson."

I watched her as she dithered, sliding back and forth between the three photos, considering them. With her focus elsewhere, it was a strangely intimate scene that elicited a sensual, powerful, voyeuristic feeling deep inside me. This beautiful semi-nude girl at my feet, in the sun, uploading the pornographic photo I just took of her for the whole world to see--I briefly considered having her strip entirely, but there was something particularly erotic about her half-exposed body, her tangled, half-removed dress. Caught by this vision of her, my fingers drifted mindlessly towards my belt buckle. I had reached my own, darker edge. It could not wait any longer.

"There," Molly said, her cheeks burning with shame as she tossed her phone aside into the grass. "I hope you like the caption, Sir... Sir? Sir? What are you doing, Sir? That's my job!"

I had my fly down and my cock half-freed by the time Molly was between my open thighs and batting me aside. No problem. I was all hunger now, nothing more, barely under control. The fingers of both hands were in her hair and her lips were mashed down against my length under its tight black covering before she had even reached my waistband. She kissed me through the fabric, breathed me in, made me throb in time with her breath. "Lesson," I gasped. "Over."

But she knew what I needed, knew it so deeply and so intuitively that she needed no further instruction. A tangle with the elastic and her kisses were on my bare skin, right at the base of my shaft with her nose pressing into me not even a quarter of the way up. They were hot, wet kisses. She had learned that one lesson well and I rewarded her for it, moaning from deep in my chest as she kissed down, down, and slid her soft fingers up to my tip.

I shifted once in my seat and let her pull my trousers down just far enough to reach her prize, my aching testicles, which she kissed, kissed all over, before sucking one into her warm mouth. I looked down at her blearily as her tongue caressed its weight, caught her blues eyes staring up along my shaft like an archer along her arrow. I had been oozing precum for some time and her fingers teased slickly over my tip, never too rough, never focusing so long on one spot to desensitize it, but a tease, a terrible, unbearable tease.

Unbearable. The days, hours, minutes, seconds since I had... All those cruel seconds... I pulled her mouth off me and lined it up with my tip. Her fingers lingered long enough to hold my shaft aloft, then swept away dutifully as I thrust her skull down onto it. Now her hand pressed into my upper thigh, both hands, both thighs, pressed hard and then harder as my cock found the back of her throat. I fucked her up and down, up and down, then held her there, less than half my length inside her, but enough, luxuriating in the warmth, the wet, until her back arched and stiffened.

She seemed to gag harder as I pulled out, but also to have learned her lesson well. Thick, frothing saliva slid down my shaft, matted the dark hair around its base, and coated her face as she rubbed it against my sticky length, using her whole wet face for my pleasure, gasping for breath. "Suh-sorry, Sir." She sounded drunk.

"Again." She did not need the pressure on the back of her head to comply. My cock bottomed out on the first deep stroke and I could feel Molly straining to take me deeper. The only thing that distracted me from the beautiful, obscene noise was the delicious feeling as she gargled me desperately. Her glottis fluttered over my cock-head and the knot under its base twisted tighter, tighter. Something huge was building, churning, deep inside me.

Molly needed another breath. She sucked in a great mouthful of air around my cock as her head slid back. I was so close. "Don't," I groaned, but 'stop' turned into, "St-stroke me," and she did, eagerly. I looked down, felt more than saw both her hands working up and down my thick, slick length, spit-lube oozing between her fingers, all my attention in my throbbing cock. Nearly all--blearily, right there on the edge, my eyes found her, that open, generous face with its wide, blue eyes, smiling at me through the sweat and sun and mascara-streaked slime. Did she nod at me, encourage me? I moaned, shuddered, tried to find the words to warn her. "Molly, I--I--"

Those blues eyes stayed open, locked on mine, until the first rope had landed across the bridge of her nose. Then she flinched and closed them and good thing too, as the second and third landed across her left cheek and eyelid. Before the fourth, she moved quickly to suck my head into her mouth once more, thick white strands hanging heavy in her lashes. Her fingers slid up and down my shaft and she licked at the sensitive spot under my tip to coax the last shots directly onto her tongue.

In a few moments, I was done. Dutiful as always, Molly kept working me nearly to the point of discomfort, until I collapsed sideways in my seat, so that the blood rushing back to my extremities pounded in my temple, right where I leaned it against the headrest. As oxygen came back to my brain, I caught Molly's eye, the one that was not glued shut with cum, and with a look of simple pride on her face she slid her mouth open to show me the last remnants of my orgasm, puddled there on her tongue.

This gesture of free, intimate devotion cut me to the quick. "Good--" I started, reconsidered, but what other thing was there to say? Molly was truly what I wanted to call her, my, "Good girl, Molly," as I whispered with total honesty. "You can swallow it now."

She did, with a noisy little slurp, and wiped the back of her wrist across her sticky eye, smiling ruefully. "That was a lot, Sir."

Before the words were out of her mouth, I had the glovebox open. "I have a tissue here somewhere."

"Thank you, Sir," she said with real gratitude a few seconds later, when I passed a wad down to her. Molly took a quiet moment and soon she could open both eyes, although her nose, cheeks, and forehead were still plastered with sticky white globules. Even though the only thing she wore above the waist was my semen and a badly rearranged face of makeup, there was not a trace of self-consciousness in her movements as she patted around in the grass and located her phone. She looked down at it briefly in her lap, then flashed her eyes up to me. "Sir! The time!"

I sat bolt upright. My phone was on the dashboard. "Shit," I breathed between my teeth as I saw the clock on my lock screen. If we raced... When I looked up, Molly could read the calculations running behind my eyes, but she had already finished them on her own. Really raced...

"I'm on it, Sir," she started, holding the phone up to her ear, and then in a more professional tone: "Hello? This is Molly calling on behalf of Daniel Andres..." I missed her explanation, trapped suddenly in the gaping gulf between her tone of voice, her comfortable gestures, bare breasts, and cum-drenched face. As she listened to our disappointed client down the line, who must have already been en route to the office, she absentmindedly ran a finger down her cheek and into her mouth, savouring the flavour thoughtfully, then called my attention back with a look straight in the eye. "No, I'm very sorry," she said firmly to the client on the phone. "I'm afraid he's stuck away from the office." And here she smiled. "Car trouble."