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Pillow Stories

Lord and Master

by Jules Jones

It's 7:30 a.m., and I look out across the quiet city, lord and master of all I survey. From this office high in the building, there's a lot to survey, although I must share it with the other offices around me, the offices in other buildings.

Not that I really am lord, even of this office. I am but a humble personal assistant to the man who really owns it. A secretary, some say, sniggering.

Let them snigger. Yes, I'm a man, fulfilling the functions normally fulfilled by a woman. I sit here, looking decorative, smiling nicely at people who treat me like dirt because I'm only a secretary. It's worth it, because I fulfill all the traditional functions of that secretary, including that one. And let me tell you, I enjoy working for a man who has the balls to install a pretty little thing as his personal assistant and tell the world to think of it what they may. And I really enjoy working for a man who has the power to get away with it. And I'm better off than my female counterparts down the hall, because I don't harbor dreams of my boss marrying me if I'm a good enough fuck. He can't, not unless the laws change.

No, I've got what I want right here in this office. I can be who I am, no need to hide. I have a well-paid, interesting job, because I really am more than just a secretary. Plus I have a lot more power than most people give me credit for.

"Good morning, Mark."

And I have Steven.

I turn away from the window to face him. All my wet dreams come true. Forty-five, craggily handsome, and a deep, musical voice that made me go weak at the knees when I first heard it. I didn't quite manage to hide my reaction to it during my interview, which turned out to be a good thing. Thick brown hair just starting to silver at the temples. All his, all natural. I should know, I've run my hands through its softness often enough.

Oh yes, physically he's walking fantasy material for a young man who likes handsome older men. But even without the good looks, I'd want him.

He's alpha male, with an aura of casual, unselfconscious power. He's king of the hill, and he knows it, and he doesn't feel the need to make an issue of it, make everyone else acknowledge it. He just is.

I'm his most ostentatious display of his ability to do what he wants and to hell with what anyone else thinks. And I love it.

He sets his briefcase down on my desk. "How'd the production trial go?"

We've come in earlier than usual because the research staff was running an experiment overnight. Steven may own the company, but he still takes a close interest in the research he no longer has time to do himself, and he wants to hear the results as soon as they're available.

I tell him what the lab manager told me a few minutes ago. "They're running late, but not that late."

He smiles at that. "I thought as much. It never changes."

"Bob only managed one swear word per sentence, so I think it's merely annoying rather than a real problem." The lab manager had sounded frustrated but not worried. "He said it'll be at least an hour late, but no more than two if nothing else goes wrong. And don't disturb him."

"An hour to kill." He walks over to me. "And there isn't anything urgent to do."

I turn away from him, lean on the railing in front of the window. "It's nice, to be here when it's quiet and peaceful like this."

He stands behind me, close enough that we touch, and puts his arms around me so that he too is leaning on the railing. Sexual, but not just sexual. There's a wistful note in his voice as he says, "I dreamed of having an office like this, of being able to stand here and say, 'here I am,' and now I've got it I don't have time to appreciate it."

We stand there in silence, looking out at the city spread beneath our feet, his arms warm around me. It's floor to ceiling glass, giving the illusion that there's nothing between me and the drop save the railing and his hold on me. I feel a little giddy, looking down at the pedestrians in the street below. Not just from the height, but at the thought that I am standing here in the arms of my lover for all the world to see.

In truth they could not see us even if they looked up, the tinted glass looks much darker from the outside during the day. But that doesn't hurt the fantasy of defiance as he nuzzles my neck, and pulls me tight against him, his erect cock resting against my ass.

"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is a little harsher now.

"Always." He doesn't fuck me every day, but I am always ready. It's part of my morning routine in the bathroom, to make sure that I am clean and lubed, so that we can snatch a spare moment without worrying about more than the condom.

He has one hand on my fly, opening it, reaching in to hold me and satisfy himself that I want him. No pretence in this office, no faked arousal, Steven knows what the other powerful men only hope; that his pretty young thing really does think he's the sexiest thing on two legs.

I moan and lean back against him as he toys with my cock. He's not squeezing hard enough, and I tell him so. "Harder, you bastard!"

"Been thinking about this?"

"For the last ten minutes, since Bob phoned to say they'd be running late."

"The young have no patience." I can hear that he's smiling. "We've an hour."

"Someone will come in before then." That's what I regret about being only a personal assistant. It's not his ring I want, it's his body all to myself, in my bed at night. That's what I dream about, that's what I never say when I'm gossiping with the other PAs in the building.

"All right." And he shoves my trousers down, exposing my ass to him, exposing my cock to anyone who looks through our window. I imagine a peeping Tom in the building opposite, scanning our window with binoculars and dropping them in surprise. Steven steps back from me, and I hear the sound of a condom packet being ripped open.

He takes me fast, his cock slamming into me, spreading me open. It feels so good to have him in me, but what's even better is knowing how much he wanted it as well; that he's been thinking about this as he traveled here. But there's one thing I don't know, have never asked. Does he think about me when he's at home, lying in his bed?

He's hammering into me now, filling me up with himself. I lean on the railing, supporting us, as he squeezes my cock, milking me. Making me desperate to come. My hands squeeze the railing, holding tight, while my mind soars. I am the king of the city, standing here with it at my feet, when I come it will shoot out over the heads of all those people oblivious below. Nothing can touch me up here, only Steven, and we do as we please. Even if someone did see us, what could they do?

Harder now, he knows I'm an impatient boy at this time of the morning, and he obliges me. Later today we will do it again if there's time, and we will take it slowly, at his pace, but for now he rides my eagerness, plays along as he plays me to orgasm. His hand strokes my cock hard, rhythmically squeezing it in time with his thrusting into my body. Twin assaults on my body and senses, his hand on my cock, and his cock dragging over that sensitive place inside me, sending shivers through me. Thrust and squeeze, thrust and squeeze, and then my come is rising in me and I know I'm on the edge.

"Go on, come over the whole damn city," he whispers in my ear, and I shudder at the sound of his voice. I have never confessed this fantasy to him, and yet he has read it in me, and I do as he says. I come, spraying the city with my semen as I stand safe within the circle of his arms, rejoicing in his power.

He's still thrusting inside me, and as he stops and shudders and swears, I stare through the smeared glass at the tiny figures below. They're distorted by my come, not quite real. But this is real, this office and this view and Steven. I will clean the window in a few minutes, but for now I stand here, these few precious moments when there is only the view from the window, and Steven, and me.

©2006 by Jules Jones

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Jules Jones is a materials scientist with a degree in maths and physics, and as such should really be writing hard sf. The output is in fact more along the lines of political sf, erotica and romance, often all at the same time. The longer examples are mostly published by Loose Id; short stories have appeared in a variety of venues, including Ultimate Gay Erotica 2005, Fishnet Magazine and Suspect Thoughts. For more information, visit her Web Site.

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