My first Job — Boss Tasted Me

The office was silent but for the hum of the computers and the occasional drip from the forgotten water cooler. At nineteen, I was still new enough to this career that being alone with my boss — Mr. Carter — in the late evening felt electric and taboo. My heart pounded when the last colleagues filed out, leaving us alone in the glow of the fluorescents.

I’d chosen my outfit deliberately: a charcoal-gray micro-skirt so snug it clung to every curve of my small hips and a thin white shell that left no doubt about the shape of my A-cup breasts. No bra. Just the gentle outline of soft peaks pressing the fabric into perky points. My pale-pink boy-short panties were cotton, delicate lace trimmed at the edges.

He rose from behind his desk without a word and closed the gap between us in three long strides, the rich scent of his aftershave sweeping over me. My breath caught when his hand slid around my waist, fingers splaying under the hem of my skirt. I pressed back into him, feeling the rigid length of his hard cock through his trousers.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice husky.

His hands moved deliberate, mapping my body: cupping my breasts, thumbs rolling my stiff nipples, kneading until I gasped into his mouth. He bent me forward until my palms braced the glossy desk surface. The legs of the desk pinched the backs of my calves, forcing my skirt to ride even higher until I was wearing nothing but the top band of those lace panties.