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eBook Category: Erotica
eBook Description: Another Sizzler from the Pen of Cyn Castle! Following up her bestselling novel, Motel Slave, the extraordinary Ms Castle continues her chronicling of the lives of today's modern young women with a searing tale of what happens to one hapless girl who finds herself in desperate need of a job, any job, even if it means becoming her boss' sex slave. When jobs are hard to come by, some bosses will take advantage of the situation to gratify their own sexual desires. Here is the eye-opening saga of an inexperienced young woman who falls prey to one such employer. Humiliated at first, she soon comes to discover she loves being the boss' slave!

eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: November 2005

15 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [702 KB], eReader (PDB) [107 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [94 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [86 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [116 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [150 KB], hiebook (KML) [284 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [151 KB], iSilo (PDB) [77 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [97 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [141 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [128 KB]
Words: 30859
Reading time: 88-123 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

I had been swallowing the pill every morning for a week. If Mister Naggett was interested I was ready. He hired me a month after my mother's funeral, telling me how sorry he was about her death. I was still grieving, of course, but by then I realized I had to earn money to survive. Still my insides squirmed when Mister Naggett tapped his manicured fingernails against the counter of the Clayton Daily Gazette outer office and told me to follow him.

A hush settled over the girls in the office. I looked straight ahead as I left the room. My eyes settled on Mister Naggett's sharply creased pants and his slim rear end. I hurried my steps to keep up. We walked down the hall, past the bookkeeper's office and into a room that looked more like a small hotel lobby than an office. The air smelled of whiskey and air freshener.

"You sure you're eighteen, my girl? You must be, I saw your driver's license. You've got to be eighteen."

"I'm eighteen," I said.

A large polished desk with a padded chair behind it sat straight ahead. To the right an open door revealed a glimmering bathroom with shower. Next to the wall away from the desk was a long leather couch. A bay window dominated the south wall. A small desk with a pale blue telephone on it sat next to the window. The wall beside the desk contained a liquor cabinet with glass doors. Inside were bottles of various shapes and colors. Beside the cabinet was a wall refrigerator.

I crossed the room. Cars moved along Kickapoo Street. A man in overalls walked past and looked in. Mister Naggett stood near me and pulled a cord that drew heavy purple drapes over the window. His face was close and smelled of some kind of cinnamon after shave.

He said, "Sit down," and motion toward the couch.

I sat at one end and sunk into the soft leather. My short skirt crept up my thighs. I pulled it as far down as possible. Mister Naggett stared, looked away. Gray near his ears highlighted his otherwise black hair and pencil mustache. I guessed he probably was about 50 years old. He wore a dark blue vest over a striped Oxford shirt. His pants matched the vest. The suit coat hung from a stand in the corner. A red tie was draped over the coat.

He walked to the door I'd entered, faced me, and reached behind. I heard the door lock click. His smile chilled my spine as he moved across the plush lavender carpet like a panther and sat close beside me. His weight pushed the cushion down and forced my body against his.

He put an arm around my shoulder, gently squeezed the top of my arm and said in an English accent that fascinated the other girls in the office, "I thought it was time we got really acquainted. You look so much like your mother, my dear. She was so beautiful. Your auburn hair"--he slid a hand to the back of my head and combed my hair with his fingers--"reminds me of hers, so long, wavy and such a glorious shine. We were close you know."

I nodded and thought, I know more than you realize.

"How do you like working here? I was happy to offer you a job, knowing how alone you were after your mother died."

His soft hand caressed my knee.

"I like the job fine," I said. My voice sounded small. "Except they don't seem to have much for me to do. I relieve Sally when she goes to lunch. Take want-ads over the phone, bring supplies from the store room. Stuff like that."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. I need a personal secretary. That's what your mother was. She did things for me. Answered the phone. Entertained the leading advertisers, took care of my personal needs. Things like that."

"Yes, I know," I said.

"What?"

"I know," I repeated, a little louder this time.

"Would you like the job on a trial basis. It would mean more money."

"Yes," I said.

His hand still was on my knee. The other one moved off my shoulder and rubbed my back. He slid it under my blouse and up to the back of my bra. He unhooked it. I turned and faced him. I wrapped my arms around his head and pulled it to my chest. He wet my blouse as he kissed the material between his tongue and my nipples.

I pushed him away and unbuttoned my blouse. I let it slide to the floor and flipped the bra on top of it. I flicked off my sandals, stood and shimmied out of my skirt and tossed it on the floor. He seemed startled. Good!

He knelt before me, folded my skirt and blouse, placed them carefully aside and pushed his tanned hands between my knees. I resisted just enough to make him strain to spread them.

He pulled his hands out, slapped them against my butt and pulled it toward him. I closed my knees. He slid his face up my thighs, his tongue licking all the way, and pushed his mouth against my public hairs. I spread my legs slowly. His lips teased at the hairs, his tongue explored and darted inside me. I pushed my crotch against his face, groaned and--much to my surprise--shouted "yes, yes, yes."

He popped his face up from between my legs and said, "Shush, not so loud. They might hear you. Wow, you sure know how to turn a fellow on."

Must be instinct, I thought. I was afraid, when I decided to do whatever was necessary to get justice for my mother, I was afraid I couldn't do it. Now I knew I could. His face was back between my legs. I didn't plan to enjoy it, never imagined that I would. But his tongue sent erotic sensations throughout my groin. The thrill spread until it engulfed my breasts, my whole body. I squirmed against him.

He pulled away from me, picked me up, kissed me between my legs once more, laid me on my back on the couch, stood, and dropped his pants and blue striped shorts. His sex, like a one-eyed monster, came at my face, sought my mouth and pushed its way inside. It smelled of cinnamon, like his after shave. He pushed and pulled, I moved my head back and forth, rubbing, rubbing with my tongue and my lips. He groaned and pulled away.

His large eyes leered over me. His mouth brushed mine back and forth and pressed hard, pushing my lips against my teeth. He forced his tongue into my mouth. The taste of whiskey near nearly gagged me.

He kissed me, passing my juices from his mouth to mine. His penis slipped in, big, oh so big, and long. He pushed. I pushed until I though it would reach my belly button. It rubbed an area that seemed to gather all the electric charges into a flame of desire.

We thrashed at each other until we almost fell off the couch. He pushed me back in place, started pumping again and groaned, holding the sound back just as I did. He collapsed against me. As his weight pushed me deeper into the softness of the couch I knew I had the bastard.

Only two months after my mother's death and here I was on Mister Naggett's couch, my legs spread, one heel on the floor, the other leg thrown over the top of the couch, my cotton panties hanging from one ankle like a loose bandage.

I reminded myself of the reason why I was letting this happen. Revenge, that was it. I lost the thought as he penetrated, withdrew and penetrated again. His warm, wet mouth surrounded the nipple of my left breast. His hand caressed the other. My hips began to move again with and against his. The feeling was something more than I'd ever accomplished on my own.

How could I be enjoying this? Yet, I was responding. He prodded with his extension. An explosion of warm ooze made my body shudder. The muscles of my sex squeezed his penis. I groaned. He groaned.

"Oh, Nora," he said. "I love you. I'll always love you. This is the best, the very best."

I froze. My name is Kim. My mother's name was Nora. He must have sensed the sudden tension in my body. He stopped pumping, lifted his mouth from my breast, and said, "Kim, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Can you forgive me? Please."

My muscles relaxed as I remembered my purpose. I'd screw this bastard until his dick dropped off. I'd screw him until I got some justice for my mother.

He struggled off of me, the smell of sex near my nose. He pulled his pants high enough so he could hop to the bathroom. He left the door open as he washed his crotch, brushed his teeth and swished mouthwash around in his mouth. He came out of the bathroom as he tucked his shirt into his pants and secured the belt.

"Get yourself in there and straighten up. I've got to go. You'll get your instructions from Mrs. Wells."

I took my time swishing mouthwash around and washing. Outside, I brushed my skirt one more time, adjusted my bra and blouse and held my head high as I passed Mrs. Wells' open door and entered the front office. All eyes were on me as I hipped my way past the counter and settled into the folding chair behind the card table that had been set up as my spot.

Tears where so close I had to shut my eyes tight to hold them back. I had been there only a few agonizing minutes when Mrs. Wells approached. She stood over me, her long, skinny arms leading to red-knuckle hands. He face reminded me of a dried potato with dark little eyes. She smelled like old newspapers.

"Come with me," she said.

I rose like a zombie, followed her. We went past her office and into Mister Naggett's. She crossed the room to the small desk.

"This will be yours from now on, Miss Crawford.