My new secretary

 The GAU hit me yesterday. My secretary quit without a hitch. I can still see before my eyes how this fury jumped up from the desk, threw a bundle of files at my feet, ran out onto the office and slammed the door. Well, if you look at it, I was probably to blame for the escalation of our dispute. I just couldn't hold back, admit she was right about an important thing. Now good advice was expensive. My publisher had been in my ears for a long time and wanted to finally hold the manuscript ready for printing in his hands. A call to the employment office brought success. They wanted to send three applicants over. Even today. I sat anxiously at the desk, waiting for the first applicant.
She came on time. I quickly realized that she had eloquent specialist knowledge, was more than the usual tipster and coffee maker.
As a matter of course she put on the earphones of the dictaphone, sat down at the computer, and began to write.
I roughly knew where in the new novel it had to be, the first erotic passage was about to come. Suddenly, without warning, she jumped up, tore off her earphones with a bright red head, looked at me with eyes flashing with anger, shouted: “This is probably the dirtiest manuscript I have ever typed. Which disturbed person has such a fantasy of wanting to put such trash on the bookshelves, probably somewhere between Schiller and Goethe? "
There was no way she could be calmed down, and she went on and on. I even feared she would be violent, so I watched as I withdrew from the sphere of her fists. She left the office snorting and the door slammed shut.
Some time passed and the second applicant introduced herself. She looked a bit funky. Actually the exact opposite of the first applicant. Her wardrobe, in particular, was very daring.
She too immediately sat down at the computer and began to write. But despite the zeal that was revealed, somehow she didn't seem to be on the point, her thoughts seemed to be somewhere, between here and the horizon. My initially good feeling seemed to change into the direct opposite.
Again we came to a text passage with erotic content, the applicant began to laugh out loud, could hardly be stopped, cackled, snorted around, began to comment on the relevant text passages. “No”, she was also very unsuitable for the job.

I started to despair. The time passed under my fingernails. I finally had to get the manuscript into a printable form. If the third applicant was a flop too, I dared not imagine this scenario. I saw my publisher before me, red head, snorting and roaring with anger. At that moment the door opened ...

I thought I couldn't believe my eyes. In the open door it stood - the man's dream made flesh. It was the woman I had in mind when I wrote my novels; an angel, a goddess stood in the doorway: black nylons, high heels, a black corduroy mini that emphasized her slim, shapely legs in an almost indecent, provocative way. A white blouse that was only buttoned so far to hide the most essential things, but wide enough to make man's fantasies come true, to awaken the most secret desires. The half-length, light blonde hair emphasized her pretty face in an almost indecent way, the discreetly painted lips slightly opened in a provocative way. The air was filled with the scent of her perfume cashmere, one of the most sensual scents of all. With one voice which represented the symbolization of eroticism, a voice that I would have loved to hear the words “Take me” say, she said “Hello, I'm a Christian, your new secretary”. I didn't know how long I let this sight, this voice, these words affect me; There was a strange tension in the air, it crackled with eroticism. Every movement of Christin let this tension increase, heightened the erotic crackling that took up the entire room, cast a spell over it, bewitched. It took a long time, but finally I was able to tear myself away from the sight of her, finally my eyes stopped caressing her shapely legs, caressing her breasts, gazing ecstatically, fascinated into her wonderful face. "And how do you come to this point of view?" I asked her, still gasping for breath, trying to to regain my composure. “Because I'm the best,” she replied with a smile, “in every area”.
Without waiting for a prompt, Christin sat down at the computer, crossed her legs, let the hem of her hold-ups gleam. Did she mean to feed me mad? There it was again, that crackle in the air, that strange feeling in your pants when you get a tough guy. Christin had to see the beads of sweat on my forehead, the bulge in my pants. Only one thought pounded in my head: I had to have this woman, now, here, today. Cost what it may.
I bet Christin is the type of woman who doesn't wear panties under her skirt in some situations. And this situation certainly existed 24 hours a day. I could almost bet that Christin doesn't even have panties.
She didn't put on the dictaphone. I wanted to dictate a new text to her. During the dictation my cock, which had become hard in the pants, brushed her upper arm more deliberately than by accident. Each time a smile crossed her face. Finally she put pad and pen aside, turned to me, undid my pants and freed the prisoner from his predicament. She let it disappear into her mouth as far as it would go, spitted her lips, let it slide carefully out of her mouth. Her tongue played on the glans, Christin spat on it, licked it clean again. Again and again it disappeared into her mouth until it stopped, I was in danger of losing the last bit of my mind.
Christin got up, began to undress me, jacket, tie, shirt, everything flew in a high arc to the floor. With a single movement of her hand she pushed me onto the heavy leather furniture in front of which we were standing - I had already lost all my senses, there was wax in her hands, except for one part of the body, which was a completely different degree of hardness. If there had ever been any resistance to what she was doing, I would finally have given up, held up my arms, and hoisted the white flag. I had long since surrendered to her.
Shoes, trousers, what could be more superfluous than clothing; Christin removed everything that was disturbing from me, she knelt in front of me, continued with her brass concert, a fortissimo of sensuality. Not that I could withstand that long, Christin drove the temperature to the boiling point, but cooled me down again at the right time to propel me up again. The temperature had long since reached boiling point and the valve threatened to burst. I lay down on the couch; Christian, still fully dressed, about me in her 69s. I was right, she wasn't wearing panties. Her seductive pussy smiled blankly at me.
I caressed it with my tongue, penetrated deeply into it, felt the pleasant taste of its emerging moisture on my tongue. Christin stroked my staff, played on it with her tongue, nibbled at it, bit into it tenderly, provocatively, excitingly. Small, horny, tender bites let my excitement meter penetrate into the red area. I greedily licked the juice of their lust, every drop, like a man dying of thirst the last water in the desert.
She became wetter and wetter, that could not possibly be just her love juice, but soon I noticed what Christin was pouring into my mouth in her irrepressible lust: it was champagne, on her own, intimate vineyard; she served me the champagne of her lust. I did not spill a single tropics from this wonderful vintage. Grinning, she got up, went to her purse, returned with vibrators and love balls. "The black one was still in my pussy this morning," she smiled, "and I didn't clean it." She held it in front of my mouth, I was allowed to fuck it off. He, who still satisfied this dream woman today, gave her an orgasm that still carried the taste of her arousal with it. Now, after I was allowed to enjoy her taste of the vibrator, she pushed it into my body cavity until it stopped and switched it on. A feeling of well-being of pleasure and excitement flowed through me, she pulled the constantly vibrating part out, pushed it in again, again and again, getting faster and faster, as if I were her own, dirty slut.
And it was me - the slave of her lust. Her hand caressed, massaged my twitching stand, each of her movements made me climb the mountain of lust up to the summit of perfect pleasure. She lay down on me, her perfect body caressed mine, her lips nibbled on my nipples, she bit into them, horny, delightful-exciting, provocative. Oh, Christian, let me be the servant of your lust, the slave of your lust, put me in infinite excitement, but control me, don't let it come to extremes yet, to the explosion on the highest of all pleasures and lusts. Her head came over me, from the slightly opened mouth her saliva flowed into my mouth, what ran beyond it, she picked up with her fingers, let me ***** off again . Still***** te her hand my cock, still the vibrator was doing in the back part of his service. Again and again I reared up, like a Mustang of lust.
She pulled out the vibrator, put the love balls in for me, one by one - one, two, every ten, left them in for a while, slowly pulled them out again. Oh, what a feeling of horniness, pure, limitless lust flowed through me, whipped me, driven by electric shocks of lust.
Christin lay on her back, I opened her blouse, was allowed to kiss her body, ***** off , I spit on him, licked off the saliva. I pushed up her skirt and dived deep into her treasure chest, her grotto of lust.
I knelt in front of her, she made me happy again with the vibrator, I reached for the second, wanted to please her with what she denied me; she stroked herself with it, asked me: "Take your fingers"; who could resist this invitation. I pampered it with one or two fingers, feeling how its moisture level rose, pulled it out, licked the tasty juice, put it back in.
It couldn't be stopped, I knew this wonderful feeling that I could no longer defend myself against; Christin also noticed that I had not only reached the peak of pleasure, but had long since passed it, that the inevitable was imminent. She cupped my trembling prick with her lips, letting me pour every drop I was able to into her velvet-lumped mouth. With her mouth full she leaned over me, let my juice flow back into mine, spoiled me with a never-ending kiss. We lay together for a long time, pumped out, sweaty, kissing, caressing our bodies.
When I was back to my senses, I said to her: “You are hired. Have we actually already talked about the salary? ”“ No ”, she replied,“ but I'll definitely get double that ”.