“You wanted to see me, Miss Hawkins?”
“Close the door, MacArthur. Sit down.”
Coming from Callie Hawkins it wasn't so much a request as it was an order, so, hurrying to do as he was told, Andrew MacArthur scurried across the room, took a seat and stared nervously at the backside of the tall, leather chair. The fact that throne and the large desk were all that separated him from his boss made him worry he might toss the tossed salad he’d had for lunch, a feeling shared by many; her reputation as someone who would lop off a guy’s dick to use it for a swizzle stick was enough to make any man puke. Just ask Laurel Newbery.
Rumor had it Newbery, head of Jaune Holdings, had actually spit in Callie Hawkins’ face the day she’d dared demand a merger, but, of course, spittle wasn’t something to which she took kindly. But she had come prepared and, no sooner had the spittle cleared his lips than she had slapped a pile of incriminating documentation on his desk, and then brazenly leaned back in the chair to bask in the moment. Word had it that old man Newbery sputtered and begged – some said he cried like a baby – but, instead of giving-in, the ice queen she was had just gotten up and opened the door to his office to let a couple of suits from the SEC; HIS office for god’s sake. After reading him his rights, they handcuffed the old bastard and paraded him through the halls of his now vanquished empire. No, Callie Hawkins wasn’t somebody to fuck with.
Sequestered like a goddess in a star-chamber, the rare occasions Hawkins ventured out were purely ceremonial – parties and banquets, daily conferences and the like – opportunities for her to glower or grant her particularly pious distinction in the name of the corporate cause. But everyone knew those appearances were just for show, for there wasn’t a single person in her employ who didn’t understand what she was about; money, and power.
Still, the first time Andy MacArthur laid eyes on her left him stunned. “Old Lady Hawkins,” as she was known in dark corners and whispered asides, wasn’t the craggy old crone with silver hair and drab clothes they made her out to be. Oh, no. She was far from it. Younger-looking than her 44 years, she was beautiful, coal-black hair, olive complexion, high cheeks and deep, almond eyes that could melt titanium. And she was a porn-star knockout, a wet dream come true; amazing figure, perfect tits, narrow waist and long legs all the way up to the tightest ass. That first time gave him a hard-on like he’d never imagined, and he was no different than any other male in the building – many of the females, too. He would have fucked her in a heartbeat. That is to say…if she wasn’t his boss…and if she wasn’t so fucking intimidating.
“How was golf, Mister MacArthur?” There was no denying the efficient coldness in the voice coming from the other side of that throne.
“According to your on-line social network, of which records show you indulge quite extensively while on company time, you participated in a rather exclusive outing last weekend. How was it?”
“Uh…fine, Miss Hawkins.” Andy had no idea what she was getting at; the internet was an integral tool to his job, so that couldn't be it. Like everyone else, there was slack time to be had and no one had ever said shit as long as deadlines were met, and though he’d gotten sloppy he couldn’t imagine a bit of surfing as the reason for a high-level ass chewing. Then, as he fumbled for a response, the sight of his personnel file lying on her desk made him swallow hard enough to gulp a cotton ball.
“Allow me to come right to the point, Mister MacArthur.”
As he held his breath, the huge chair spun slowly around, and when it stopped he was stabbed by the iciest glare he’d ever seen. And the frightening thing was how those eyes never blinked.
A long pause ensued, as if Hawkins was turning up the heat. “I understand you were paired with a certain Jack Martin.” Another pause while she studied him. “According to information we recently obtained, during college you and Mister Martin were involved in more than your fair share of, shall we say, incidents?” She took pleasure in the blood draining from his face. “You can spare me the details,” she said, patting the file. “Things of that nature should have been disclosed, wouldn’t you agree? I certainly think so, what with company image at stake.”
It was true. Back in college, Jack Martin and Andy MacArthur had built solid reputations as troublemakers, and if anything happened on campus one could bet they were in the thick of it. But then they got busted for kidnapping, if swiping the statue of the institution’s founding father for randy photos with a coked-up stripper could be considered kidnapping. But it was the morning after that incident that all hell had broken loose.
Turns out the girl had been the barely-legal age daughter of a senator, and the old man wanted their heads on a platter; said Martin and MacArthur supplied the coke – they didn’t – said they forced his virgin daughter to pose – they didn’t and she most assuredly was anything but a virgin. It had taken bucket loads of money to get them off; Martin’s family fortune saved his ass but Andy’s family lacked the means.
Opening his file, Hawkins held up a front-page picture of MacArthur in a most unflattering pose, butt naked alongside that damned statue in the school’s main fountain. Glowering in triumph as he sank down in his chair, Hawkins shot a glance at the figurine on the corner of her desk, a wood carving of testicles in a vise. Yes, she had him by the balls.
Andy knew he was finished, his career washed-up, but it was it curious how she didn’t seem to give a damn about dragging out that kind of dirt; as though she was just using that for some nefarious reason. That’s when it dawned on him. Callie Hawkins was after bigger game.
A privileged prick, after college Martin’s father had bought him a position with Follett, Ltd where, in two short years, he’d sucked his way up the corporate ladder. Follett had long been Hawkins' main adversary, and she’d made it no secret they were in her crosshairs. Because of that fact, whenever Martin and MacArthur got together, which was often, Andy had been careful to not publicize it. But sometimes things happened, like after the golf game when they got drunk and lobbed a few balls from the beer patio, betting who could come closest to the widow-foursome at the tenth tee, laughing their asses off at the way those old gals scattered like pigeons.
Yes, they’d drunk their share that day, so much so that neither had given a rat’s ass; especially Andy. Between the two, Martin could hold his liquor, Andy not so much, and as he thought back he remembered Martin asking a lot of questions, especially insider stuff, and at the end had gone so far as to offer Andy a position that would make for a rosy future. “Sure!” Andy had slurred, “Of Course! Fuck, yeah!” How it was that Hawkins knew any of that was beyond belief, and all he could do was to stare back like a fucking idiot.
Taking another photograph from his file, Hawkins presented a close-up of Andy thumbing the dossier, and that’s when it hit him – Tremain, that suck ass in IT. Tremain had been there, too, had buddied-up good and close with his toothy grin. The ultimate ass-kisser, Andy hadn’t trusted him from day one, and with Hawkins staring holes into his cranium he pictured that shitbag slithering a Monday morning path to her door.
“I’m certain you can appreciate how you’ve place me in a most unpleasant position, Mister MacArthur.” Hawkins’ apologetic tone sounded nearly orgasmic. “Of course, your services here are no longer needed.” Removing her blazer, she marched around her desk. “The unauthorized release of proprietary information is not only unethical; it descends into potential illegality.” Admiring her polished nails, she leered down her nose at him. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Miss Hawkins,” Andy stuttered, “…I…I…”
“A shame to lose one with your, shall we say, potential?” She made it sound like she was spitting out a bug.
“Miss Hawkins…,” he mumbled with a resigned shake of his head.
“Follett Limited has been on our radar for quite some time. Tell me. I’m curious to know if you considered his offer.”
His mouth dropped open, but all that came out was a pathetic choke.
“Well, allow me to fill in the blanks.” There was toxic venom in her voice and she pinched the corners of the photos like a soiled diaper, released them to flutter atop the folder. “You two g-e-n-t-l-e-m-e-n,” the word smirked slowly, “have quite a history. With his double major in polysci, yours in global marketing, I imagine the two of you seeing yourselves mandating the course of the financial world. Friday nights at the poker table must be quite entertaining; Oh, to be a fly on THAT wall.” Leaning back on her desk she propped on her elbows, extended a leg to rest her foot on the chair right in his crotch, and pursed her lips. “Tsk-tsk,” she chided, relishing his white-knuckle grip on the armchair.
Letting out a heavy sigh, she broke stare to look around the room, Andy watching her. Fire him or not, Callie Hawkins was one fucking sexy woman; long hair hanging in loose strands against her neck, the buttons on her lavender blouse straining to pull the front together, and in the gaps was exposed a dark undergarment. Looking down her body, he noted the charcoal skirt had inched above her knees, revealing garters clipped to mid-thigh stockings, and as he admired the smoothness of inner thighs her legs parted, just a bit, but enough for him to see all the way up to the nearly invisible patch of see-through panties. His eyes widened, and he looked closer, and saw the crease of her pussy. Shifting uncomfortably, he crossed his legs to hide the bulge of his stiffening cock.
Facing him again, a wicked smile formed in the corner of her mouth, and her tongue flicked out in a slow swipe of her lips. Not taking her eyes off him, she reached over and pressed a button, but before her secretary could respond she stated with cool firmness, “No interruptions. NONE.” Then, with slow, deliberate intent, she returned to Andy. “On second thought, MacArthur, you might yet be of value to me.” Sliding her ass smoothly off the desk, she marched to the door.
Remaining completely still, he heard the deadbolt click, and the flinching spasm of his body was nothing compared to when, from behind him, her soft hands cupped his face.
“You have a chance to redeem yourself, Andrew,” she cooed in his ear. “You have what I want – information – and I possess what you need – your career.”
Andy stared straight ahead, the thump-thump-thump of his heart seeming ready to explode in his chest.
“I take, and in return I grant.” Stepping from behind, Hawkins took position beside him, ensuring the crotch of her skirt was mere inches from his face. Smiling when he finally turned to look at her, she began toying with the buttons of her blouse.
Andy knew who was in control, and the fact she was the hunter and he was her prey made for not only the most helpless feeling of his life, but it worried him, frightened him. And, he had to admit to himself, it aroused him too. But, in spite of that range of conflicting feelings, somewhere in the back of his mind he was getting pissed, not only at her, not only at Tremain or Martin, but at himself for being so careless. No, that wasn’t quite true; it wasn’t anger, it was defiance. Still, why he said what he said next he would never know. He looked directly into her eyes. “Sounds like a hostile takeover.”
Her glare softened, and Hawkins leaned close, tracing a featherlike finger to his cheek, pressing her soft, full lips against his ear and whispered with sultry slowness, “yes, Andrew, …something…like…that…” Before the last word left her mouth her teeth nibbled the lobe.
His head spinning, in the back of his mind Andy let go of the reason for being called to her office. She was bringing out the animal in him, and he wanted to consume every quivering inch of that body. So what if Martin was a friend? When shit hit the fan that slimy bastard could work his way out of a fix quicker than a hooker on dollar night. Not only did he owe Martin nothing but here he was with this porn star boss seducing him and if she kept going he was willing to tell her whatever she wanted to know just for the chance to fuck her.
“The dossier,” she moaned a throaty growl, her tongue plunging into his ear. “Will you show it to me?” Watching his head tilt back, his eyes close, and his chest pulse in deep gulps of air, when he groaned a slow, deep, “oh, f-u-c-k,” she made her move.
Loosening the hairpins, a shake of her head sent hair tumbling to her shoulders. “Tell me about it,” she said, undoing the top button of her blouse, and then the next, and the next. When they were all undone she pulled it open, revealing the camisole. “I’m not the bad boss you think I am.” Leaning over, propped her weight on his forearms, holding him down, she gave him a good look at the smooth, full orbs dangling in his face. “Well, I’m not bad, but I can be naughty.” Hard nipples pressing against silk, she lifted his chin with a finger and slammed his head back into the chair with a powerful, tongue-probing kiss.
Using his hands, Hawkins peeled the blouse from her shoulders, and then stood over him, her legs prying his apart, kneeling down between them, unfastening his belt, unzipping his zipper of his pants. Her hands probed inside, and she took out his cock, licking her lips and kissing the swollen head. Leaning back she cupped her jugs around him, every slide of hard cock between soft mounds touching the tip to her mouth. Suddenly she wrenched his shirt open, leaned into his belly and licked a circle around his navel, her hand locked to his cock. She was in control.
Standing to face him, she began to unbutton her skirt, but MacArthur didn’t allow her to finish. Shoving her had to the side, he unbuttoned the snap, pulled at the zipper, and as her skirt fluttered to the floor he buried his face to her pussy, hearing her gasps at his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh, moving upward, wrenching her panties away.
“I have a new position for you, Andrew.” Climbing on top, she reached down, grasped his throbbing shaft, placing it against the wetness of her cunt, slowly settled on to him, and as his cock slid its full length into her she let out a deep moan.
There was a gust of hot breath on his face, and Andy felt her grinding into him. She was tight, and hot, and he pulled her close, and reached for her breasts, squeezing them, massaging them. At her shoulder he pulled the straps from her shoulders, breasts nearly bared, and he pulled the camisole completely down and locked his mouth to a blossomed nipple. He was roiling inside, near to eruption.
Each grind was more furious than the last, her clit rolling against him, and he shoved, his swollen cock burying deep as it could be, and suddenly Hawkins clamped her arm around his shoulder, her back arching, her body frozen and then it bucked again, and then again, and she grew limp, gasping for air. He thought it was over, that she was finished, but he was wrong.
Sliding off, she crouched between his legs, stroking him with both hands, and no sooner had she looked up and locked eyes with him than his cock was sucked into her mouth, her cheeks collapsing around him.
“Now,” she managed, gulping deeply, “cum in my mouth.”
The effect was instantaneous. Gripping the back of her head, Andy thrust deeply into her face, and as she tugged his throbbing shaft with one hand and fingered her pussy with the other, he felt the eruptive cusp of the volcano welling within. Her teeth raked him. Her tongue cushioned him. Her throat collapsed on him. And in a blinding moment of electric-white light his hips clenched tight, and she pulled back, tilting her head back just as the first blast of white lava splattered across her forehead. Sealing her mouth around him again she took the second spurt, and the next, and the next, and when the last oozed from his pulsing rod, Andy collapsed. Exhausted, unable to move, he panted hard and looked at her, her opened mouth filled with pearly cream. Leaning forward she dribbled some onto his shaft while swallowing the rest, jacked him with his own cum and then sucked him clean.
And just like that it was over. Getting up, Hawkins never gave him a glance as he sat and watched her get dressed. Suddenly he felt traitorous, knowing she had gotten every thing she wanted from him. Standing up, he straightened his clothing, and as he was about to say something he saw her open the drawer of her desk and retrieve a leather planner.
“MacArthur,” she said, jotting a notation, “We will continue this discussion tomorrow morning at 10:45; do not be late. And,” she added with her wicked smile, licking the remnants of cum from the corner of her mouth, “don’t forget the dossier.”