could smell the musk coming from between his legs, and it excited me. He'd worked up a little fresh sweat on the sunny golf course, and it smelled good. It smelled like a man. I'd been with some boys lately, but not with a man. Not since ...
Mr. Thorne kicked off his golf shoes, and one of them struck me softly on the shin, but he didn't notice. I pushed the lovely shoe a few inches away from me. They looked custom-made, just like so many of the items in his walk-in closet.
I looked at his crumpled pants and thought, Shame on you, Mr. Thorne, you ought to hang those up, or they'll wrinkle.
He pushed the chair back and stood, then whipped down the pants, crossed the room, and and lay them across the sofa.
I got a nice look at his bare bottom, round and muscular, and legs like tree trunks. As he leaned over, his thigh muscles bulged. When he turned back again, the sight changed from those gorgeous buttocks to that proud soldier of his, perfect and sturdy and begging to be grabbed onto. I could grab it like a handle, I thought. I imagined his perfect penis would fit so nicely in my hand, my mouth, anywhere he wanted to stick it.
I nearly came crawling out from my cave under the desk, begging to put it in my watering mouth, or my other spot, but I didn't. The thought of the bonus from Grace, and my mortgage payment, kept me glued to my spot.
He returned to the chair and sat comfortably, his gleaming rod in profile to me, so velvety and hot-looking, and begging to be stroked.
“Hi Candy,” he said, and I swear it got even bigger, right in front of my eyes.
I stuck my thumb in my mouth and started sucking.
“My golf game didn't go so great,” he said into his phone. “One of my business colleagues is still sore from a deal I took away from his company, and he kicked my ball when nobody was looking.”
I sucked my thumb harder, hoping to sooth the ache in my groin. Carefully, I rearranged my position under the desk so I could get my other hand between my thighs and up my skirt.
He laughed, that deep voice of his sounding more friendly than authoritative. “No, not those balls. My golf ball. Oh, Candy, you're a silly girl. You know I have a weak spot for silly girls. Especially when they're smart, like I know you are, but they play dumb. You know that makes me so hard.”
And he wasn't lying. His lovely soldier was getting bigger and bigger, and he'd only just started stroking it, moving his hand up and down like he was warming up an expensive musical instrument.
“Candy, I want you to get on your knees. I can smell you. I can smell your pussy, right through this phone. God! How are you doing that? It's like you're in the room with me, with your little pocket.”
He stroked some more, faster, then slower. I rubbed a circle around my clit, wider and wider, then narrowing in, but pulling away before I made myself see stars. I could take myself to the edge, but I didn't dare go over, because I'd probably cry out and moan with pleasure, betraying my hiding spot and forfeiting the bonus.
“Is your little pocket wet?” he asked her. Under the desk, I nodded my head. Uh-huh. My pocket was wetter than ever. My pocket was moist and ready for anything.
“I'm putting the tip in. Open wide, pull your legs apart for me. How's that? Is it making you tingly all over? Moan for me, girl. Yeah. Again. Oh come on, Candy, I'm not going to give it to you unless you want it. Make me believe you want it. I'm pulling the tip back out.”
His hand slowed and then stopped, and he reached down and tugged at the skin on his balls briefly, the head turning purple and straining against his tugs.
“That's my girl,” he said. “I like it when you whimper. You know, nothing in this world makes me happier than to satisfy your needs. I closed a billion dollar deal today, and all I could think about was how it wasn't as good as the sound of some sweet girl, squirming on the end of my cock.”
Him saying that word gave me a little jolt of