We work together in black and white. But we live in the grey in between. Newspaper advertising sales. We divide the spaces between the stories. We work out what each is worth. We calculate the page yield – what we can afford to sell each for. We work side by side.
She runs the team. Every week we go head to head with the target. We succeed or we fail. We hit page yield or we don’t.
She sits in her office, behind that big desk, fitted black power suit to match her thick black ringlets. She is about my age, but far above my status. She rose effortlessly to the top. She is decisive, clear-sighted, ruthless.
I’m in the team. Every week I work to meet the target. I succeed or I fail. I err, I hesitate. Things are black and white. Especially with her. I want her so badly, it hurts. But I can’t have her. That much should be simple.
Then things start to go grey. She knows I want her. An office party, a drunken pass. A hard slap across the cheek. And then a softer, comforting touch, stroking the pain.
And now this. In her office, summoned. She’s sat behind her gleaming ebony desk, suit buttoned up, but there’s a lot of flesh, as though she’s wearing nothing underneath. It seems whiter because of the contrast. She sees me looking at her plunging neckline. Undoes a single button.
She passes me a note, and then dials a number. It’s head office and she’s talking ad volumes and yields. I open the note:
You can’t have what you want. But I can. I want to see you yield to me. Can you take it?
Then get on your knees. And come and get it.
There it was, in black and white.
I kneel down and watch her on the phone, sliding her chair back. I can see her under the desk, as she slides out into the light, she’s wearing only cheer black stockings below the waist. And I know what I have to do.
I crawl like a dog on heat under her desk, as she slides her hips forward. And then she opens the jacket, and I gasp. Not just because of the weight of her breasts, tumbling out, with dark, puckered nipples. But between her legs at eye level is her cock.
She’s wearing a black leather harness supporting a black silicone dildo, life-size. I pause and look up. She’s looking down at me, ear pressed to the phone, but she mouths “Come and get it.” And I know what I have to do. Grabbing the toy, I open my mouth, and tentatively suck the rubbery end.
As I do so, I notice the harness is positioned to rub her clit. But before I can think about this, she grabs a handful of my hair and forces me down onto the dildo. Hard. It hits my gag reflex so quickly I swear I’ll throw up, as she circles my head, grinding my whole throat against its gritty texture and chemical taste. After what seems like an hour, but was probably only seconds, she releases the pressure, and I reflexively recoil from her lap, trailing slobbering ropes as I wheeze breathless gasps, clamouring for air in my newly liberated throat. I pause, swallow down stray saliva and fresh air, but once again she pushes me down, her hand hard against my skull and, as I gag and struggle, I can sense her own response to the movement against her clit. A sharp intake of breath, as she finishes her call.
Then I’m on my feet, swaying slightly from the rush of blood and the oxygen denial. I lean on her desk to steady myself. She gently bends me forward and starts to rub my back. Where she grabbed my hair, now she carefully massages and I feel her hot breath tickling my ear.
“I need you to take this for me. Never doubt that this is where we stand, you and me”.
And she eases down my trousers, pressing my hips onto the cold, varnished wood, my cock splayed on the table under my tense stomach. I can feel that wet plastic cock resting at the top of my arse. And again, I am down. She extends her arm suddenly and I feel the full force of her desire, my head slammed against the desk, pinned at the shoulder by her elbow. I can see her silhouette reflected in the glass of a framed picture on the wall. She looks magnificent. Imperious, and totally focused.
I hear her spit, and a second later feel the lubricating fluid between my ass cheeks. Her hand is in the middle of my back, but I no longer need her restraint. I open my legs slightly and listen to her soothing words: “Breathe out slowly, just empty your lungs and relax”.
I do so, and at the end of the exhalation, I loosen automatically, and feel the head of her dildo enter me, wet from my own saliva. I’m pressed harder against the desk, my cock stirring from its constriction and the signals being sent from my brain. I cry out, and then bite my lip, as I surrender my desire to her pleasure. A kiss on my shoulder, a whisper of encouragement in my ear, and she’s further inside me, and I can no longer cry out. I whimper a low, drawn out moan, half crying, half in ecstasy. My cock is surging in response, forcing any remaining tension into my throat, where I feel my voice tightening.
And then she is fully inside me, and we are finally united. I’m muzzled, pinned and held by both the pain and pleasure, years of frustration at her hands now released as tears running down my cheeks. She holds me tight, gripping my shoulders and grinds up and down, rubbing her cunt against the dildo wedged tight in my ass. Faster. And harder. It feels like forever.
I want to erupt, to shout, and cry, to bellow with a force that I feel being pushed into me. But I don’t want this connection to end, she riding her desires through me, finding her pleasure in my pain. “Feel me come inside you,” she gasps, as the wave of her orgasm travels down into the core of my being.
My own orgasm is now so close, and the conflict and confusion of feelings so stark, I can’t find the words or even the noises to express it. As she dismounts from my back and pulls away, I feel it hit, starting in my spine. I can barely breathe as it spills out between my belly and the table. My final offering to her, now seeping wet and unwanted, pools of white against the black table.
We work together in black and white. But we live in the grey in between. In the spaces between the words. We work out what each other is worth. We work side by side. But it will always be me who yields.
See who else is getting wicked in black and white this Wednesday – click on the link below: