The Boss Read Online Free Page A

get the lyrics out of my head. I thought back to my joyride with Pete just a few days before and wonderedif it might be my last. It already felt distant in time, a lost moment of pleasure and excitement I would never know again.
    That was nonsense. I’d just have to be clever, but there was always a way to beat the system. Foxy and Square Jaw would never control me. I’d be out again, maybe with one of those joke masks you can get of King Kong or the Queen. Let them put that in their facial recognition program. That made me laugh, and I began to daydream about the two men and how I could thwart their evil scheme, or their good scheme really, because I had no illusions about who the bad guys were, at least by most standards.
    It was amazing how different they were to the men I knew, in some ways anyway. In other ways they were the same. After all, they were really in it to make money, just like Steve bringing the booze back from Calais, only legal. That was where the resemblance ended. Steve was full of life and emotion, always laughing, or angry, or dirty, filling my mouth with cold lager and then pulling my head down on his crotch because he liked the feeling on his cock. It was impossible to imagine Foxy doing that, or Square Jaw, who was definitely a Stephen and not a Steve.
    There had been that one brief moment though, when Foxy had said that thing about my ‘personal toolbox’ and for one moment I’d really thought he was testing me to see if I’d be the sort of assistant who did personal favours. Not that I’d have done it for him, not in a million years. Square Jaw was a different matter, because he was undeniably good-looking, and I can sometimes be a bit of a sucker for a stern man, literally.
    It actually made quite a nice fantasy, imagining Square Jaw interviewing me, with the same string offatuous, newspeak questions, then all of a sudden a complete bombshell, something like ‘And what would you do if I were to demand fellatio out of hours, Miss Cotton?’ I’d tell him that I was no clock-watcher but dedicated to the success of the company and quite happy to work late, or that I fully understood the importance of teamwork and that if sexual tension was reducing his performance I would be more than happy to provide him relief in my mouth.
    That was a deliciously dirty thought, and I made myself more comfortable on the bed, rucking my skirt up a little and letting my thighs come apart. For a moment the scene in my head changed, and I was imagining doing to Stephen English what I had done to Pete, straddling his face to make him lick me to heaven. Somehow it didn’t work, but seemed inappropriate, even insolent. Stephen was too strong, too harsh to be handled so easily. If he licked me he’d have me on all fours, in a thoroughly exposed position, but it was much more likely to be me down on him.
    I didn’t want to admit to myself that he made me feel subservient, and I fought against what my body was telling me to do, but only for a moment. The idea was too sexy to hold back on. My hand went between my thighs, touching myself through the moist cotton of my knickers as I imagined the scene. It would be after hours, with both of us working late, and he would suddenly, casually make his demand, in a voice that allowed no possibility of disobedience – ‘You will now give me fellatio, Miss Cotton.’
    He would say it that way, very formal and stuffy, but the end result would be just the same, his cock fed into my mouth for me to suck him off. I’d be kneeling, under his desk, maybe with my smart little skirt suit –the same one I was really in – disarranged to show my breasts and bottom. Men love that, to have a girl go bare while she sucks, and he would be no exception. I’d be playing with myself as his cock grew in my mouth, just as I was for real, with my fingers doing wonderful things between my legs and to one nipple.
    Already I was on