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Subject: RP: One Fine Morning 2 (Sexretaries) -- Frank McCoy -- mf, parody
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(Note: I am not the author; only the archivist. The author's name is
included in the text and deserves all the credit.
The following story deals with themes of explicit sex. If you're not
old enough to be here, you're not old enough to read it. Scram.)
One Fine Morning, Part-II
(Sexretaries)
An Erotic Story (parody)
by Frank McCoy
When I pulled in at work, everyone was arriving. There was a lot of "grab-ass"
going on, as we filed in, but it was all friendly. Even I got involved, by reaching up
under Karen's short little mini-skirt, and cupping her cunny, as we stood in line.
Karen is a cute little brunette, who works over in accounting, and we've had fun
together before.
She responded by rubbing her crack against my probing finger, and grabbing
a handful of the bulge in my pants. Well, after all, fair is fair!
"Mmmm," she said, grinning, "you keep poking this thing at me, and I'll have to
see if it's real at break time."
"Is that a promise?" I asked, as I slipped a finger inside her panties, and
probed inside her slippery hole. The guard grinned at the two of us, as I fished
out my badge with one hand, while keeping the other inside Karen's slippery little
cunny.
Karen's eyes lighted up at the suggestion, and I was sure she was going to
say, "Yes," when she remembered something. "Oh Gosh, I'd love to," she said.
"But it will have to wait until at least tomorrow. Shit." By this time, she had HER
hand in MY pants, as we made our way down the hall joined together somewhat
like Siamese Twins; drawing grins from our fellow workers, as we passed. While
we walked, I had the front of her tiny little dress bunched up; my hand was down
the front of her panties, and you could see the movement; as I stroked my big
finger in and out.
Karen had HER hand down the front of MY pants as well; teasing my swollen
cock with her cool little fingers. We were standing like this in the hallway, when
my boss came by and noticed us. "Hey Mike," he boomed, "didn't your little girl
give you any this morning? What's the matter with you two? Can't you even wait
until sex-break? I mean, we're pretty generous around here, letting you guys
have four twenty-minute sex-breaks a day. Some companies only give their
employees TWO ten-minute sex breaks."
Guiltily, Karen and I pulled apart, and I zipped up my pants, while she
straightened her dress. Gosh that was a cute outfit. Especially on a body like
hers. "Gee, I'm sorry we can't 'get together' at break time," I said sadly. "I
suppose you're already booked up solid for the next week or two." This was
almost a question. I knew that women as cute (and horny) as Karen usually tried
to 'spread themselves around' so they wouldn't be accused of discrimination. I
had a similar problem with the girls in the office. Being fairly handsome, a
basically cheerful guy, and having a nine-inch prick, made me almost as popular
among the women in the office, as Karen was with the men. The times SHE
wasn't booked up, I usually was.
"No," she said, "I'm free. It's YOU that has other arrangements."
1
I looked at her with a little consternation. I mean, I usually knew my own
schedule pretty well, and I was fairly sure that I had left THIS morning's first sex-
break free. "What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.
"Didn't you tell him yet, Dan?" asked Karen, in embarrassment. "Tell me
what?" I demanded. Dan may be my boss, but that's no excuse for him cutting
into my sex-life. Still, he quite often did.
I wondered just what it was this time? The last time, it had been some
supplier, where the old biddy had to get laid, before she would sign the papers.
(OK, OK. 28 is NOT all that old, and "biddy" did not due her justice. At 36-28-36,
three quarters of the men in the office would have fought for the chance to seal
the deal, but Dan wanted one of his best to do the job. The trouble is, I liked
smaller, less-endowed women. And younger ones too.
The time before that, I had been drafted as the "babysitter" for the 14-year-old
spoiled daughter of an Asian tycoon; while her father sampled almost every
woman in the plant over a period of almost three weeks. He said he wanted to be
sure our workers "were the best," before he would buy from us. So I got stuck
"babysitting" his oversexed little girl.
Yeah, the "babysitting" I was supposed to do, was to "sit" a baby in the little
girl's tummy, while her father did his best to broadcast HIS seed among all our
female employees.
In spite of the fact that she was a spoiled brat, that had been fun. The girl
THOUGHT she knew all about sex, and making babies, but I had fun by showing
her time after time, that there were secrets to having sex that she had never
heard of. Yeah, I did my job too. The kid was knocked-up higher than a kite, by
the time "Daddy" got through sowing HIS wild oats. The real trouble was that Hin
Shee wanted to take ME back with her, and her Daddy tried to pressure my boss
into making me go.
No way was I going to leave. It took some frantic negotiations, before I got off
with promising to visit the kid at least once a year, and to father as many children
on her as the little girl wanted. "Daddy" would take care of all the rest.
Right now, our daughter is 2, and I understand Hin Shee's about to have our
first son in about 3 or 4 weeks. Damn! That means "Daddy" will be insisting that
I "cum" out and visit again in a month or two. The horny old goat wants to have at
least 5 or 6 grandkids. All this brought me back to the present.
"OK, Dan," I said, "What kind of sex-freak have you stuck me with, this time?"
Sometimes it seems that I don't have any time left for my REAL job, as Dan tries
to get as much dual-use out of his best employees as he can.
"It's not that, really," explained Dan. "It's just that you've got to 'break-in' a new
sexretary today."
"Oh shit," I said. "What happened to Joan?" For almost three months now,
Joan had been the finest sexretary our office had ever had. She had just turned
18, when she started, and had gone at the job with an enthusiasm rarely seen
outside of registered/certified nymphomaniacs and school nurses.
2
I understand that she had once tried out for the Olympics, but didn't have the
stamina. When she DID fuck, she put too much into it; leaving herself and her
partner drained. Not very good material for an Olympic athlete in the sex-games,
but the very thing a company like ours needed for a sexretary.
Sometimes I daydreamed about having her as my PRIVATE sexretary, but
that wouldn't have been really fair to either her OR me. Eight of us men shared
her as our sexretary, while about ten women shared Joe as theirs. (Joe WAS a
certified satyr, but was too lazy to work down at a school with hundreds of horny
teenagers. He figured it was worth it, to only have ten to fifteen horny women to
service, instead of the hundreds of sex-starved teenagers, if he didn't have to
make lesson-plans, give grades, and teach. Besides taking care of his sexretarial
duties, Joe would usually jack-off in his cubicle 5 or six times a day. Actually, the
company figured it was lucky, to get a certified satyr even if he WAS lazy. If ANY
of the girls in the plant felt she needed a little extra, there was always Joe.)
Anyway, I had just gotten used to having a sex-bomb like Joan, and now I had
to 'break in' a new one? I hoped this wouldn't be literally, like the first sexretary I
ever had, who had been a virgin. At 19 yet! I know, I thought that NO girl made it
through high-school, without getting knocked-up at least once by the school satyr
and sex-education teacher, if nobody in her family had done the job by then.
Somehow, Mary-Jane had slipped through the 'cracks'. <har> <har> And then of
ALL jobs for a VIRGIN to pick, she had tried out for sexretary, and made it.
It seems she faked the requirements documentation, and actually thought she
could fool the men in the office into thinking she was experienced. As if ANY of
us would miss an intact hymen.
Still, we all felt so sorry for her, that I had been picked as the best one to
"break" her in, and we had all kept silent afterwards about her lack of experience.
After about six months, the girl had gotten to be pretty good. After her first
pregnancy, she was moved to another part of the plant, since we already HAD
two other sexretaries, while she had a big tummy.
That was where I got my first daughter from. Mary-Jane had left our daughter
with me, as a sexretary's life doesn't leave a lot of time for raising kids. Besides,
she figured I would be able to give the little girl a better sexual education than she
could. She was overjoyed to hear about Karen being pregnant. (Yeah, I know. . .
Karen at home, and Karen in the office. Just don't ask me how many "Dave's"
there are down here.)
"What happened to Joan?" I repeated.
"Oh, didn't you know?" said Dan, "Joan was 'late' this morning, so we had to
replace her. Your new sexretary is waiting in your office."
I was too worried about Joan, to care about some jerk of a replacement.
"What happened to her?" I snarled. Joan had been the best sexretary I ever had,
and I wasn't going to let them throw her out, like last week's garbage.
3
Dan knew this. "Oh don't get so uptight," he told me. "She's doing just fine;
working down in the secretarial pool, until she has her baby. YOU know we don't
lay off sexretaries when they get pregnant. Why else would we be having
sexretaries anyway, if it wasn't to give the men something to work for? I mean,
there's nothing like knowing that if you continue doing your work, and stick with
the company, that YOU might be the one lucky enough to plant a baby in the
company sexretary."
I knew all this, but thinking about Joan being pregnant had made it slip my
mind. I wondered if there as a chance the kid could be mine. I had been
incredibly lucky so far, in the baby-sweepstakes. Two babies by sexretaries, and
one by a fellow co-worker. And I still wasn't even married. (Though, now that
she was barred from being a sexretary, maybe Joan might look on my suit in a
more favorable light. I had to ask her.)
I stopped by my office, on my way down to check on Joan's 'condition.'
Damn! There was a little girl sitting in my office, obviously waiting for her
mother. Shit! It's bad enough having to put up with a new sexretary, after losing
a gem like Joan; but to have some floozy who didn't even have the sense to leave
her kids at the daycare center, was too much.
I looked at the little girl again. OK, I was exaggerating about the daycare. The
child was obviously past daycare. Still, she couldn't have been a day over 13,
and I privately doubted if she was even 12. NOT the age to bring along, when
you're starting a job as "sexretary." Heck, the kid probably hadn't even been to
sex-education class yet; let alone had any babies of her own.
I decided to find out who the kid was; who her mother was; and send them
BOTH packing. I needed RESPONSIBLE help, not some bubble-brain. Besides,
after all that banter in the hall with Karen, I NEEDED the use of a sexretary. But
NOT in front of her own damn kid! For one thing, I was NOT a certified satyr, and
it was NOT my job to teach sex-education.
"WHO are YOU?" I asked.
The girl looked at me strangely. "I'm your new sexretary," she said.
I looked at her barely budding breasts, narrow body, and flat tummy, and
revised my age estimate downward to 12 years old. Max.
"YOU?" I smirked. "Who do you think you are kidding. Go home, and grow up
kid. We need a woman here, for this job. Now where's your mother?"
The girl stood up (all four-foot-seven of her) and looked me straight in the eye.
"I am NOT a 'kid'," she said. "I am 14 years old, and have been certified by the
state board of examiners as fertile. Not only that, but I have already PROVED my
fertility twice already, by having my father's baby when I was only 10 years old,
and my little brother's baby a year later. So don't go calling me a 'kid.' I'm more
woman than YOU would ever be able to handle!"
4
She stood there, barely 100 pounds in weight, but it was 100 full pounds of
dynamite! "So, If you don't like me, then say so, and I'll go where they know how
to treat a girl right."
Boy, had I gotten off on the wrong foot!
"I'm sorry," I backpedaled furiously. She might be young, but she definitely
had spunk! ("Or would have pretty soon," I mused to myself, as I imagined this
cute little girl stuffed full of my cock, with my baby-juice filling her flat little tummy.)
"I've just had a bad day, losing my last sexretary, who I liked a lot," I explained.
"Here, will you forgive me, and we can start over? Please?"
She looked slightly mollified. "OK," she said, "I'm sorry I blew up at you, too."
I invited her to sit down, admiring the thin, white, almost see-through panties
under her short little skirt as she did so. Well, at least this girl seemed to know
how to dress properly for the job.
"Here's my certificate," she said, as she handed me the cardboard. "I don't
have it framed yet, but. . ." She had noticed the direction of my interested gaze.
The girl started to pull her dress down, to cover herself up, then remembered
where she was, and what job she was trying to fill. So, she stopped herself in
time, and flipped the front of the skirt UP and spread her legs a little, so that I
could get a better look, while she continued.
"I only got a 'B+' in oral sex in school, but the sex-ed teacher told me I was still
the best little harlot he had met in over two years, so at his suggestion I decided
to try. . ."
My mind vaguely listened to the girl's description of how she had managed to
land the job of sexretary in a major industrial factory, while I checked out her
credentials. "The Board of Medical Examiners certifies that Lynda Joe Karahjnik
has been tested and found to be fully functional and fertile. . . By these presents,
let it be known that Lynda Joe Karahjnik has passed the board of. . . Lynda Joe
Karahjnik has shown that she is able to . . . On this day of. . ." On and on. With a
list of certificates like this, it was a wonder that the girl wasn't trying out for street-
hooker.
Then I looked at her. No, she wouldn't have the stamina for that. Mostly, only
Olympic athletes were strong enough to take on that tough a job. Only the very
finest even tried. For all the glory and high-pay, not many women could take it
day after day. Not unless they were nymphomaniacs, and THOSE girls were too
valuable as teachers and nurses in school, to go out hooking on the streets.
Sadly, there just weren't enough women of star-quality, to be streetwalkers.
Though Lynda here almost looked like she could make it, from the pile of paper in
my hand. I looked closer. . . Fertility-rate. . . capture-ratio. . . libido. . .
WOW! No wonder the girl wasn't a streetwalker. With THESE stats, she'd
probably get knocked-up, her first night on the job. Even WITH about 20 or 30
guys pumping her cute little belly full of sperm. Even here, she'd probably only
make it for a month or two, before her tummy started to swell.
5
Still, that's what the whole idea of being a sexretary was about. A streetwalker
didn't WANT to get tight pants, while keeping her tummy full of babies, was the
whole reason for BEING a sexretary. Lynda had definitely gone into the right line
of work.
". . . so after acing incest, with my brother, and a final make-up course in
bestiality, I figured I was ready to start. Mr. Jenkins, my sex-ed teacher,
suggested I start here," she finished up.
By this time, I had been leaking pre-cum down my pants-leg for almost 10
minutes. The thought of this sexy little piece of baby-factory squeezing the sperm
out of my prick, up inside her fertile young womb, was making me so hard I could
barely stand up to congratulate the girl on her choice of occupations. She
certainly seemed to be designed for the job. I told her so.
"Mmmn, I hope so," she said with a smile and a wriggle that gave me shivers.
By now, she seemed to have forgotten our earlier discord.
"Do you really think that I. . ." Here, she looked down at the bulge threatening
to burst a hole in my pants. "Ooooh! You DO think I'm sexy, after all!" she
cooed.
She was right. Sitting there in that tight little mini-skirt, with her see-though
panties showing a damp circle in the center, she was the sexiest thing I had seen
since the day my eldest daughter decided she wanted her first baby to be mine. I
grinned back at her, and ground my crotch in her direction. "Like to try it?" I
asked.
"Ooooh. Can I?" she asked. Then, at my nod, she reached for my zipper.
Ten seconds later, warm silky lips surrounded my prick, while an agile tongue
titillated and probed at the head. Now diving into the slit; now slurping around the
head. This little girl was even BETTER than I had expected, even from the rave-
reviews of her sex-education teachers.
Suddenly, I was reminded of where we were, and what we were SUPPOSED
to be doing as the clock chimed 10:00.
"Uh Lynda," I said.
"Mmmm-mmm?" She mumbled around the head of my prick.
"We'd better stop, before I cum down your sexy little throat," I explained
"Mmammt-mmt" she slurped. It didn't take a genius to know she said "I want
it," even if the words were garbled by the thick prick filling her mouth.
"Uh, wouldn't you rather have this thick sticky load of baby-juice squirting right
up here, inside your baby-basket?" I asked; as for the first time, I reached down
the front of her slick little panties, and stuck my finger up inside. Was she EVER
wet! I could feel her tight little cunny clamping and squeezing on my finger, in a
manner that almost had me losing my cool, and wasting this big load of
pregnancy-juice down her eager little throat, instead of up inside her tight little
hole where it belonged.
I wanted my sperm to be the first to squirt up inside her; as from her statistics,
the first load would probably be the last and only one she ever needed.
6
"Fertile as a turtle, Myrtle" That's what she was; and if I didn't get my seed
planted in her cute little belly pretty soon, it was obvious she would get someone
else to. Damn. I wanted it to be MY kid inside her, when her sexy little tummy
started to swell.
She may have been 14 years old, but she looked almost as young as Karen
had been, the first time I knocked her up. I wanted to see this little girl looking like
a pre-teen knocked up by her own daddy, just like my daughter had. It was with
great effort, that I managed to remove my prick from the teenager's sucking
mouth.
"I suppose," she said. "But I like to swallow it too. Promise me you'll let me do
that too?"
"I promise," I said. The second easiest promise I ever made.
"It's break-time," I said. "Usually, at this time, we all go down to the 'break-
room' where the company has cots set up, and we all take a sex-break."
"Sex-break?" she asked. "You mean, you all have sex there, every day? Is it
one big orgy? We only had one orgy in school," she reflected sadly.
"No," I replied, "this is work-place, not a whorehouse. Though sometimes the
distinction is kind of vague. No, even YOU as a sexretary, don't have to have sex
here if you don't WANT to. In fact, most of the time the guys and girls around
here DON'T have sex during every sex break. Some of us DO have sex, some
don't. Some people jack-off, during sex break, and others just watch. A few
people even sleep on the cots during break-time, and we try not to disturb them. .
. Except for Alice, that is," I chuckled, as I led her down to the dimly lighted room
filled with comfortable cots. Not really beds, but more like big soft thick
mattresses on the floor.
"Clothing is optional," I pointed out, as we passed two people making out; him
fully dressed, and her naked as the day she was born. I recognized them as two
new hires in engineering. . . They seemed to be getting along very well.
"Alice?" she prompted me, as we headed for an empty cot, clear across the
room. (If you arrive late, the best spots are gone)
"Alice likes to sleep, but she wants to get fucked too," I explained, "she made it
clear a couple of months ago, that she's trying to get pregnant, and wanted as
good a chance as possible, but didn't want to be obligating any of the guys here
to being the father. So she set it up, so she goes to sleep on one of the cots
every day, and then one or more of the guys here will screw her while she's still
sleeping. She never asks, and we never tell her who it was each time, that filled
her tummy with sperm."
I sighed. "We all take turns, even me and Dan; so she'll never be sure who it
is who did it, when her pants start to get tight."
"Gee, that's SEXY," said Lynda. "I wish I could do that, sometime."
7
"You could, if that's what you really want," I explained. "There's nothing in the
job-description of sexretary, that says you HAVE to know who's knocking you up."
Lynda looked at me, in the dim light for a second, then replied, "No. I WANT
to know who it is that's getting me pregnant," she decided. "For example, I want
to feel this thing up inside me RIGHT NOW, squirting so much big sticky sperm in
my tummy, that I'll be having babies for the next ten years."
I had to admire the people who had trained this little girl. For a youngster, she
had a way of talking, that would get a raise out of a statue.
"Hey! Get in line!" said an angry voice. Then it was mollified by, "Sorry Mike, I
didn't see your companion. I thought you were another guy who didn't know
where the end of the line was."
"Huh? End of the line?" I looked, and sure enough, there WAS a line.
Snaking back and forth between the cots, was a line of about 10 or 15 people.
"What's going on?" I asked, curiosity overriding my urge to get this sexy little
girl down on the floor. Lynda seemed to be willing to wait at least long enough to
satisfy her own curiosity.
"Sue is trying to have a baby," explained Joe, "and she just started ovulating,
so all the boys got together, and we're giving her a 'baby shower'."
"Oh," I said, and then chuckled. "Baby-shower," indeed! A shower of baby-
juice up inside her fertile tummy. Now THAT was funny! Of course, I could
sympathize with Sue. At 41, she figured she was running out of time to have a
baby, so she'd do anything to help ensure she got pregnant.
"Baby shower," indeed. I looked down at Lynda to share the joke, and saw
her looking worrriedly back. It took me about a minute to figure out why, then:
"Don't worry," I assured her, "the only place THIS 'shower' of baby-juice is
going, is up in YOUR cute little tummy, so that YOU can enjoy my baby growing
in there.
"I'd like that," she said sweetly, and kissed me.
Bells rang, whistles blew, skyrockets went off, and the ceiling fell in. I didn't
care; I was in love. The warm sexy body of the little girl in my arms, the sweet
smell of her shoulder-length hair, and most of all her soft warm lips pressed
against mine, were too much. The next thing I knew, we were both lying on a cot,
still dressed, as I slowly recovered my sanity.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I know I wasn't supposed to do that, but I couldn't
help myself."
"I'm sorry too," I said, holding her shuddering body close. "Now you know
WHY sexretaries aren't supposed to kiss their fellow workers. They told you
about this in school, didn't they?"
"Uhuh," she sobbed, "But I never thought it was supposed to happen this fast.
I mean, in all the stories, it took several weeks, and the woman usually had lots of
warning, but she went ahead and did it anyway. You looked so handsome, and
sexy and caring, and I thought one little kiss wouldn't hurt, and now look!"
8
She sobbed again, before continuing, "I mean, all I KNOW is being a
sexretary, and now look at me!"
I did; and except for her tear-streaked face, she was an absolute vision of
loveliness. I wanted to hold her, and comfort her, and take care of her, and. . . I
was interrupted by a quiet voice at my shoulder. It was Karen, coming over to
see what had happened to me since morning.
"You two did it, didn't you," she asked, with a sympathetic note in her voice.
I looked at Lynda; she looked at me; we both gulped, and nodded.
Karen shrugged. "Well, why don't you two finish it," she said, "and I'll go start
the paperwork going."
"Huh?" asked Lynda. "Finish It?"
"Honey, when two people fall in love, it's not really complete, until they have
sex together," Karen explained, like a sex-education teacher talking to a 12-year-
old girl in heat. I suddenly remembered that Karen HAD passed the bars for
nymphomania, but couldn't stand the immaturity of teenagers and pre-teens, so
she had ended up working as a streetwalker, until even that had bored her.
She had finally managed to make a balance between work she loved here,
and working out her sex-drive at night in the back-room of a bar. We got a good
worker by day, and the bar got a first-class hooker to take the edge off their
customers' sexual frustrations at night. It was an unusual solution, but Karen
seemed to be happy. Not for HER the hundreds of sex-mad teenagers, that was
such a pleasure for most nymphos.
Karen prodded us. "You DO want to have sex together, don't you?"
I looked at her, she looked at me, and suddenly there was a mad scramble, as
we both tried desperately to be the first one with all of our clothes off.
By the time we were undressed, there was a silent ring of co-workers standing
around us. They all wanted to watch. After all, it wasn't EVERY day, that they
got to watch two lovers couple for the first time. Not only that, but word soon
spread that we had both not only fallen in love, but she was a trained sexretary
too.
I mean, this just wasn't supposed to happen. Sexretaries were supposed to
be too highly trained, to let themselves get caught like this. Of course, they were
human too. That's why the 'no kissing' rule. Any and every kind of sex; including
many things that most people would call "perverted" were all in a day's work for a
sexretary. It was her job to relieve the sexual frustrations, that otherwise might
have men and women playing sexual power-games, where the woman teased,
and the man schemed; until the workplace became a battleground between the
sexes, instead of a place to work. Once sexretaries were mandated, the battles
over "glass ceilings" and "sexual harassment" vanished.
Now, if a girl teased, she EXPECTED to get fucked. On the other hand, no
man tried to force a woman to have sex with him, for "favors" like advancing in
the company.
9
He no longer needed sexual favors himself. Similarly, women were no longer
scared of men making unwanted sexual passes at them, because they knew that
the guy could always call on his sexretary, if he got hard-up.
Not being pressured, made it a lot easier to DO the things that otherwise
would have been fraught with sex-political tension. Now a man COULD walk up
to any girl in the office, and ask her to have sex with him, without feeling like an
unfeeling cad.
The girl was now free to say NO, if she felt like it, because she knew he
wouldn't get all sexually frustrated if he did, and she also felt free to say YES, if
she wanted to, without feeling like a slut and whore. (Yes, back then, those
words USED to have bad connotations. Nowadays, they're considered
compliments, but it wasn't always so.)
For this reason, sexretaries (of BOTH sexes) are highly valued, prized, AND
paid members of a company's staff. Even most small businesses these days hire
"sexretarial services" from companies that specialize in having sexretarial pools.
The effectiveness of having a sexretary was found to be MUCH higher, when
the barriers to pregnancy were removed. Even counting down-time for being
pregnant and having a baby, a sexretary could be over twice as effective at
removing tensions if she was fertile, and the workers knew it.
So, sexretaries were trained and schooled, to be willing to give their children
up to the fathers, while the prospective users of her services had to all agree to
adopt any child of their sexretary that she felt unable to care for.
Not that there was ever anyone who had to be FORCED to care for an
unwanted sexretarial baby. . . Far from it. Every time a sexretary got pregnant,
there were always claims and counter-claims over whose baby it was, and who
would get it. However THIS was always up to the sexretary herself. SHE got to
decide who SHE trusted to raise her child.
Once she decided though, it was over for her. She got visitation rights, but
that was all. He was that child's father AND mother from then on, unless his wife
adopted it also.
Being so valuable, companies just couldn't afford to have their sexretaries fall
in love with someone in their staff. So sexretaries were trained to distance
themselves mentally from their charges; even while getting as close physically, as
you could possibly get. That's why kissing was forbidden.
It was too much of an accepted sign of love. Sex, caressing, back-rubs, etc.
These were all OK, but DON'T show any affection. You like sex. You enjoy sex.
You like your clients. You do NOT date. You do NOT cuddle. You do NOT visit
their homes. You do NOT even go out to lunch with them.
You keep your distance. You LIKE them. You CARE for them. You do NOT
love them.
10
These were all tenets of the sexretarial Bible. And Lynda had just broken the
biggest one, on her very first day. I felt sorry for her. All her training. . . down the
tubes. And the financials would be quite hard as well. Not only would she lose
her lucrative sexretarial position, but there were penalties in her contract, if she
failed to complete a certain number of years as a sexretary. Usually, the term
was two years, but this could stretch to as many as ten, with pregnancies being
deducted.
Of course, the company wasn't THAT heartless. They did NOT fire a girl who
fell in love with an employee. Just like ones who got pregnant, there were always
positions in either the secretarial pool, or janitorial staff, or even office "gopher."
Still, the pay was a lot less, and there WERE those penalties to repay.
Still, looking at the little girl with stars in her eyes, when she looked at me, it
was hard to feel as sorry for her as I should have. I mean, I was in love too, and
to have her look at me that way, was too awe-inspiring pleasurable for me to feel
very unhappy.
I guess she felt the same way. Besides, when we were married, she could live
off me. I certainly made enough for both of us, even if I already had three kids at
home. Adding a wife, would finally round out my life.
"Hey! I'm going to have to go back to work in a few minutes," a friendly voice
prodded us. "Are you two kids going to fuck, or are you just going to stare at
each other all day?" A round of chuckles greeted this question.
I suddenly realized that Lynda and I had been doing just that: Staring at each
other's naked bodies, for almost 5 minutes. We both grinned, and reached for
each other.
It was like a shock. SOOO sensual. We kissed again, and the top of my head
blew off. I was in heaven. Suddenly, I was yanked back to reality, as the touch of
her cool little hand on my aching prick almost had me spouting thick sticky sperm
all over her hand, instead of up inside her, where we both so badly wanted to feel
my sperm getting her pregnant.
I grit my teeth, and managed to hold on somehow, as she sank back on the
cot, and I found myself between her legs.
It's a good thing her father did a good job of breaking this little girl in, as
otherwise my swollen prick would have ripped her wide open. I'm not small,
being over nine inches long, and thicker than most guys I know. I wouldn't have
been able to hold back now, and neither would Lynda, even if she HAD been a
virgin. Thank God for horny little brothers, and loving Daddies, I thought, as I slid
home inside her. I didn't expect to last more than 2 seconds inside her tight
squeezing little hole. Neither did she.
And Lynda WAS tight. In spite of having two kids, and fucking her own father
since she was nine, she was tighter inside than anyone else I had ever known.
Most sexretaries ARE tight; they sexercise to stay that way. Still, Lynda was
tighter inside than even Karen had been, the night she first climbed on top of me
and had me "Teach her how to make a baby."
11
Surprisingly, once I was properly inside her, I was able to slide in and out
without splattering her sexy little tummy full of seed. I wanted to enjoy this fuck
for a LONG time. So did Lynda. Well, we tried.
We were actually doing pretty good, sliding in and out, with my big prick
leaking baby-making sperm inside her tight little hole, when we made the mistake
and kissed again. I don't know who taught her that, (They surely don't teach you
how to kiss at Sexretarial College.) but she stuck her tongue between my lips, on
into my mouth, and started licking my tongue!
It was like a blow to the back of the head, and then like a kick in the shorts, as
my overstimulated penis began sending stream after stream of warm creamy cum
up inside her hot little hole. Pulse after pulse rippled through my prick, and I
shuddered and shook on top of her, trying to force as much of my body as I could
inside her, so my sperm would have a better chance at getting inside her womb.
I was just starting to slow down, when the pain hit me. Lynda was trying to
tear my hear out by the roots! Or so it seemed for a second. She pulled on my
hair, and screamed and wailed, and clamped down on my prick so hard I though
it was getting cut off. Never have I even SEEN a woman have an orgasm like
this. Let alone feel her shaking and grunting and yelling underneath me, when
she did so.
Her frantic squeezing kept my prick erect enough, for Lynda to finish her
orgasm, before it wilted. Then, like a man stripping the last drops of milk out of a
cow's teat, I felt ripples of her internal muscles milking the last sticky drops of
sperm out of my cock, as it slowly deflated.
I looked down at her, and saw the intense concentration on her face, as she
did so. THIS was obviously something she had trained herself to do. Or perhaps
they taught it now, at sexretarial school. In any case, it added to the thrill, to
know that every drop of my sperm was being extracted into her tight little hole
where it belonged.
When I finally pulled out, there was only the tiniest drop of white puddled at the
end of my prick, and only another tiny drop oozing from her bare little pussy. I
hadn't noticed before; but she kept her pubic hair shaved, (Not all that uncommon
for sexretaries.) and with her youth, she looked barely older than my youngest
daughter, let alone Karen.
My introspective musings were interrupted by clapping and cheering, as the
whole company started congratulating the two of us for our spectacular
performance.
Then the crowd broke up and returned to work; leaving me cuddled up to
Lynda. (Yes, another no-no for sexretaries, but we were WAY past that now.)
I was finally able to extract myself from Lynda's arms, as I regretfully
announced, "C'mon, we've got to get back to work. . . Or at least I do. We'll have
to figure out what YOUR job is going to be, now that you're out of a job as a
sexretary."
We both groaned, as we got up.
"Oh no you don't," said a familiar voice.
12
"Huh?" I said not very intelligently, as I saw Karen and Dan approaching us
with a thick sheaf of papers. "Oh no," I thought, "He's going to saddle me with all
the paperwork on this! Oh, well, serves me right."
I was wrong. "Here," said Dan, shoving the sheaf of papers at me. "They're
all filled out, including her transfer to your department. From now on, Lynda is
YOUR private sexretary. How does THAT grab you?"
Dan beamed at me. "I've been wondering for years, how to trap a horny old
goat like you into staying here permanently," he gloated, "and now I think I've
done it."
He sure had. If he could do this for me and Lynda, how could I EVER desert
his company for somewhere else. Besides, Dan always paid me more than any
of those other jerks would anyway.
"Well, what are you two standing around for," he asked.
I was about to head back to my office, when he amplified, "Go on, get on
home, both of you. Get married, get pregnant, get happy, get whatever."
"But what about my work?" I asked.
"Screw your work," he replied, "didn't you see the papers I gave you?"
We obviously hadn't.
"You're both on 'maternity leave' for the next two weeks," he chortled.
"MATERNITY leave?" I don't know who was more astonished at this: Me or
Lynda.
"Sure," he said, still chuckling, "You ARE going to be making a mother out of
her, aren't you? If that isn't 'maternity' then I don't know what is."
We both were too embarrassed at his generosity to say much, but Lynda
figured out a way to thank him. She gave him a kiss, that made his eyes light up
like mine had. We both knew she wasn't in love with HIM, but he HAD earned a
portion of love from both of us. For sure, he would always be welcome in our
bed, any time he happened to visit. I tried to tell him this, without sounding like I
was trying to push him into bed with my wife. (Gee, I was already thinking of
Lynda as my wife, and we weren't even married yet.)
Thankfully, he took it seriously. "AFTER her period stops," he said in
agreement. "Now get out of here you two, before I put you both to work."
We got.
It isn't even noon yet. I wonder what Karen is going to think when I bring her
home a mother, that's only two years older than she is, but looks at least a year
younger?
Whatever. For sure, the old bed is going to squeak at night. Going to work is
going to be fun, too.
I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to check up on Joan. I wondered
who Joan was going to pick as a father for THIS baby. I knew I had a fairly good
shot at it, as there was a good chance the kid was mine, and I knew she liked the
way I was raising my other three. Especially, if it was a girl.
13
Oh god, what a delightful thought! Karen's going to be delivering in about
another three months. Joan just MIGHT pick me for HER baby's father. Lynda
should be pregnant right now, or for sure she will be, in a month or so. And in
about a year or so, Judy will be old enough for Jason to knock HER up. We could
have LOTS of babies around the house, in just a few years.
I love babies. I also love little girls who give them to me. I love big families. I
guess I love pregnant little girls, most of all.
Isn't it wonderful, to be surrounded by what you love, and those you love?
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