Archive for the ‘picture’ Category


Almost Demure, continued

July 15, 2009







Black and White

December 16, 2008



Shoes: Satisfaction by Carlos Santana. Interesting, but in the end we decided not to keep them.


What’s she got on under that skirt?

December 11, 2008


Nothing, of course…


Better with a little adornment?



Sales Report

November 30, 2008

how much?

“Okay, Johnson, you’re up first. How’d your department do this month?”

Johnson stands up and begins his report, stammering and stuttering as usual. I don’t know what he did that the boss hates him so much, but he makes the poor guy go first every month.

I stand in my place at the front of the room. Near the flip chart in case there’s an impromptu brainstorm session, otherwise just monitoring the room, ready to go fetch coffee from the kitchen or do whatever else is needed.

Especially whatever else is needed.

The room is full of men, in their stiff shirts, staid suits, and boring ties. It’s very much an old boys club, with the boss ruling the roost, and never hesitating to belittle an underling or call someone out. The rest of them play along, smirking, making jokes, hoping that will make the boss less likely to pick on them. I’m the only woman in the room.

And have I mentioned that I’m naked except for a pair of stiletto heels?

I’ve been daydreaming, and not really paying attention, but as Johnson reaches the end of his report, I snap to attention. “As to, uh, sales, uh, Sir… It was, uh, an average month, Sir. Total was $32,500, which was um, about the same as last month, Sir.”

Johnson finally stammers to a close. The boss gives him a withering glare. “I had higher hopes for you this month, Johnson. See that you do better next month, or we’ll have to examine the staffing of your department.” And then, “$32,000 is that right? So that’s, let’s see – Lyn – what is that?”

“3 minutes, Sir,” I reply quickly.

“3 minutes, Johnson. Do you think that will be enough this month?

“I’m, uh, not sure, Sir.”

The rest of the men laugh, and the boss says “I guess we’ll find out.”

Johnson turns his rolling chair around, away from the conference table, and I leave my spot at the front of the room. I kneel in front of him, between his spread legs, his pants lowered just enough for me to get to his cock. I take his cock in my mouth. It’s flacid, of course – I imagine that when Johnson’s speaking the thing practically crawls up inside his body.

But his cock doesn’t stay flacid long, as I begin to suck and lick it, running my tongue around the glans, using my hand at the base to enhance the sensation. Soon his cock is bumping the back of my throat. The other men might make fun of Johnson’s stammer and his sucky sales, but his cock puts all of theirs to shame – the fact that he always goes first makes the rest of them so disappointing.

I live in anticipation of the month that Johnson’s department finally hits it big, because – sadly – 3 minutes is never enough. I’m just finding my rhythm, the spit at the back of my throat thick and sticky, perfect for deepthroating, my cunt pulsing in time with my movements, when the stopwatch in front of the boss begins to beep.

Reluctantly, I disengage from that lovely cock. Johnson – with obvious discomfort – puts it away. I can see the outline of it through his suit pants, and my cunt grows wet as i fantasize about that beautiful cock filling it. I wouldn’t want to have dinner with Johnson, but he could fuck me with that cock anytime. Or just lie back and let me fuck myself on it, if he’s as pathetic at performing in the bedroom as he is the board room.

While I was busy with Johnson, it was Peterson’s turn to report. He was still rambling on when I finished, so I returned to my spot at the front of the room, aware of all the men’s eyes following me as I walked. Between the sound of my sucking off Johnson, and the smell beginning to waft from my cunt, I knew that the rest of the men would be at least at half-mast when they got their turns.

$50,000 from Peterson’s department. 5 minutes. If it had been Smith, that would have been plenty – Smith’s a premature ejaculator, and he’d manage to blow his load even if he only had Johnson’s 3 minutes. But 5 minutes is right on the cusp for Peterson. It would likely depend on when he’d last fucked his wife. She was a cute little thing, blond with perky tits, and I wouldn’t mind fucking her myself. I imagined he did her as often as possible, so my bet was that Peterson wouldn’t manage with only 5 minutes.

I didn’t let my bet with myself sully my performance, though. In fact, the whole time I was sucking and stroking his cock (average length, and a little thick), I was fantasizing about fucking his wife’s cunt with a strap-on dildo while he fucked her face and made her perky tits bounce, so I probably gave him a better than average blow job.

I could taste his precum and feel his knees shaking a little when the stopwatch went off, and up my head popped. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and then he reluctantly put himself away, staying turned away from the table for an extra minute to compose himself.

3 more departments, 3 more sales reports, 3 more blow jobs. Smith was next, and the first to shoot his cum down my throat, as expected. Davis had an awful month, losing money because a sale from the previous month was canceled. So he got the one minute special, where I worked as hard as I could to make him as hard as possible for that one minute, then smeared a fingerful of my cunt musk under his nose and left him hanging. Ross was the superstar of the month – $200,000 in sales. I knew he wouldn’t use the whole 20 minutes, but he definitely enjoyed having me work on him for the 12 it took, threading his hands through my hair and pushing my face down on his cock, as much a face fucking as a blow job. Man’s a bit of a sadist, I think, but fortunately I don’t mind. My cunt *really* doesn’t mind, and the insides of my thighs were thick with cunt juice by the time he was done with me.

I went back up to my place at the front of the room, catching my breath, waiting for the boss to bring the meeting to a close so I could clean up the papers and coffee cups, maybe sneak off into the bathroom to get myself off. But this time the boss got up to make a speech.

“As you know, men, we’re in a bit of a cash crunch right now. Oh, you’re all doing your parts – except you, Davis – and I appreciate that. But this economic downturn is giving us some cash flow problems. So I have to announce that we won’t be able to pay out a Christmas bonus this year.”

Groans from around the room, although they try to hide it.

“But I can’t let such good work go unrewarded – even you, Davis, you’ve had a good year otherwise – so I do have another kind of bonus for You.”

My ears perk up at that. What ever could he have in mind?

“Lyn, up on the table, please.”

I begin to understand what the bonus is as I lie back on the table and spread my legs, cunt at the edge. As Peterson drives his cock into me, I’m feeling awfully glad that my cunt is so wet from that face fucking Ross gave me. It doesn’t take long for Peterson to shoot his load – he’d been so close before – and his cum fills my cunt and paves the way for the rest of them. Davis drives into me viciously, paying me back for his humiliation earlier. I’m impressed that Smith and Ross manage to get off a second time. And then it’s time for Johnson. The others think they’re leaving him with sloppy seconds (or, er, fifths, I mean). But I’m glad I’ve had 4 other cocks in me, because that means maybe I can take Johnson without tearing in two.

The other men are already heading out of the room when Johnson approaches the table. No flacid cock this time, he’s ready to go, and I’m ready to take all of him. He drives into me, and I’m instantly moaning, loving the feeling of being so totally filled, loving the way each thrust hits my cervix and combines the pleasure with pain.

After a few quick thrusts, he slows down, starts taking his time. He’s determined to make up for all those months of 3 minute blow jobs, all those months of humiliation. My moans intensify. “Oh god, oh god, oh please, oh please…” and he speeds up, reaches down, grabs my hips, pulls me as far as he can onto his cock, and as I start to come, cunt grasping and pulsing around that gorgeous cock, he comes too. He rests there, deep inside me, for only a moment. Then he sighs a peaceful and contented sigh, pulls out and leaves the room.

It’s a few minutes yet before I’m able to move, legs aching, cunt swollen and sore. But I know that cleaning that much cum off the boardroom table is going to be a real pain in the ass, so I drag myself up and get to work before it has time to dry out.


So un-ladylike

November 27, 2008



Service through injustice

November 25, 2008

Early last week, my Master gave me instructions to wear a particular outfit to work the next day. But i didn’t have the hosiery he was looking for, so he let me wait until i could go shopping. Then i got sick, and it’s a few days later before i’m able to pull together the outfit that he wanted. i was so excited that morning, dressing for Him, with a new jacket i knew He’d love to complement the rest of the outfit.

Except i wore the wrong shoes.

He said Oxfords, i read Mary Janes, and had that firmly implanted in my brain as what i was supposed to wear with my pretty new patterned hose. i never went back to the original email to double check the instructions, because i “knew” what they were, and it can be hard to find one specific email amidst the hundreds we send.

But i did dash off a quick request for confirmation to my Master. “The rest of the outfit is new black skirt and black Mary Janes, right?” He wrote back saying he’d been thinking the gray skirt, but the black would be fine, and i went upstairs to get dressed.

A couple hours later, i’m at work, i send him the pictures, and i have one extemely unhappy Master. He’s been waiting on this outfit for days, and he’s going to be on a trans-Atlantic flight later that day, so – while i can fix it and take the right pictures when i get home – he’s going to be traveling and not able to see them.

He’s annoyed and frustrated, and he takes it out on me. i can tell He’s disappointed and upset as i read His instructions – a long apology from me, then 50 lines of “i will pay better attention to my instructions,” then another long apology.  And “I might punish you more later,” he says.

My first reaction was injustice.  “Sure, i hadn’t gone back and read the email, but i’d confirmed the outfit with Him that morning,” i thought indignantly . But we have been talking a lot about punishment and letting go. That accepting punishment – particular for something that was out of my control or that i don’t think i deserved – was a way of letting go of control.

i wasn’t quite capable of completely letting go – i did have to send a contrite but defensive “i know i should have done better, but i checked with You this morning!” email first. But then i looked inside myself, and found a way to write a sincere and submissive apology, while simultaneously accepting that it was perhaps a mostly injust punishment. After all, i should have been more attentive to His instructions in the first place.

As i wrote out my 50 lines i began to understand that this was less about fault, and more about my Master taking out his frustrations on me. And – here’s the epiphany – that accepting that punishment, letting Him lash out a little, was an act of service and submission. He needed to work out His emotions, and i was His canvas to do that, and the punishment his medium. With that thought, those 50 lines became a meditation on submission and service, rather than injust make-work. When i finished, i was able to write an even more sincere and submissive apology.

Not very much later, He mentioned in an email to me that accepting the blame, letting him take out his frustrations, was a way of submitting. To which i could reply that i’d already figured that out, and thank Him for showing me a different way to serve Him.



Sexy Shoes and a Little Black Dress

November 24, 2008