The Bull Pen

Shay is on the phone ” So now, as an infallible way of making little ease great ease, she begins to contract a quantity of debt—”
” Are you available?” She’d been trying to read a contract in the library, trying anything to better herself and she’d heard I was good, when I spoke to her. It has been a while since she heard the familiar timbre of command and it immediately causes a surge of tension and want within her chest. As she has been left to pace the opulent mansion for three days now, it seems I’d been ignoring her, gone or otherwise busy with my businesses. I had an old-fashioned library among the many rooms here. Though she knew most of the books are there just for show—just so my clients can look in awe at the matching hardcover set, dark shelves, and clean lines of my study wrapped around large, expensive oak furniture— the very thought of herself reading and knowing one of my books better than I did is satisfying.

It is something, anyhow. Something that meant she had a mind of her own. So she told herself. Then I’d say something to her and break her concentration immediately. ” Shay, are you available?” I ask again slowly as if she hadn’t understood me the first time, hazel-green eyes clearly mocking her though my tanned face is irritatingly neutral. I’m holding a squat glass of amber liquid on the rocks in one hand; I’m missing my suit coat, but still wore my fine linen shirt, wine red tie, dark grey slacks and polished dress shoes. I cut a fine figure. They both knew the true answer to my question: she is always available. She closes the book, along with her expectations for finishing it, and set it down on the coffee table. She smiles at me and stood up, smoothing the China blue satin dress that fit close to her torso and trim waist, hugging womanly hips and thighs and ending in a small flare at her knees.

” Yes, always,” she replies, and still it causes that small tick in her jaw, that slight waver to her smile, to have to say it out loud. ” What do you need?” I point casually to a spot on the rug; it is a stylized sunburst amid Arabic geometric designs, and in a central spot right in front of my big, oak desk, surrounded by ornate lamps, a writing table, and a few interview chairs facing the desk. She obediently walks to the spot in strap-back heels that match the blue of her dress, her posture of that intangible, elegant quality, as if she’d gone through finishing school. Shay waited until I’d loosened my tie, glanced at her, then chin-nodded a bit impatiently for her to kneel down before she did. The carpet is plush beneath her knees, which is one small favor, and she fidgets briefly with her tight dress again, trying to keep it smooth and in good order after getting down in front of me.

Her dress had sleeves that held only tentatively to her shoulders, revealing an appealing expanse of pale, smooth skin, and a lot of cleavage. I always smile looking down at her breasts, lifted and pressed together; sometimes I slipped a single finger down between them, rubbing gently in and out in a playful hint of what is to come. I didn’t do that tonight; I took a breath and ran a hand through short, gray hair before letting it out. I looked kind of tired. ” Well? What are you waiting for?” She swallows, noticed her mouth is already salivating, and reaches to loosen my two-hundred-dollar belt, unclasping and lowering the zipper on even more expensive, grey dress slacks. The fact that I’m wearing a pair of navy-colored, men’s bikini briefs didn’t surprise her. She can already see the well-groomed trail of dark hair leading beneath the low-slung fabric. They fit very well and the elastic band didn’t resist too much as she pulls them down with one hand, carefully withdrawing both my semi-erect cock and my scrotum as well.

Her bare hand touching me caused faster swelling and I breathed out quietly, seeming to being to relax. She hears a soft slurp as I took a drink of cognac and I touch her black hair encouragingly as she jerks me once, twice, then parts her lightly painted lips to take me deep into her mouth. I sigh louder, my buttocks flexing as I push in far as I can go, as she starts suckling me. ” Always the good sword-swallower, eh, Shay? You remember the first time you went down on me?” She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to remember. I hadn’t even opened my own pants back then…she had. Why had she thought acquiescing to do it then would have spared her more of this humiliation in the future?

I’d certainly proven her wrong on that, systematically pushing her boundaries further and further over several months until she has lifted her shirt and lowered her panties for me, until she has felt me tear her hymen and felt my semen dripping out of her after I was done. Even later she had found herself on all fours in my office, him balls-deep and reaming out her asshole as she became a pillow-biter. He kept pushing and taking everything, one by one, because she’d felt she had no choice but to let him. Well…she truly had no choice, now, unless she wanted to go to jail right along with him if she didn’t help protect them.
Wet slurps and sucks and a squelching noise accompanies her work as I moan softly, a different kind of tension quivering along my frame as I had to lean back against my desk. I’m close…There iss a knock on the door.

” Fuck,” I hiss quietly, immediately irritated and reached to grab the back of her neck to hold her mouth on me in case she’d been about to pull off. ” Goddammit…” I set down my cognac. ” What is it?” I asked with raised voice. ” It’s Mr. Sheen, boss,” said a brusque, podgy voice through the thick wooden door. ” He came back to talk business.” ” We talked business earlier, he wouldn’t commit,” I replied with my brows drawn down. ” Tell him I’m busy.” ” Mr. Malone,” said a different voice she’d never heard before; he sounded just a little like that talking mouse in California, if the character actually had a set of balls. ” I apologize for putting you off, I needed to confirm.