Yes, Mr Allen - Chapter 1 - Sex Stories

Yes, Mr Allen - Chapter 1

... deflated when the familiar entrance to “Allen & Allen Industries” stood resolute before your hunched-over form.

Your wife hardly wished you well before she disappeared on her way up to Mr Allen’s office. Trudging over to your section, a mountain of paperwork threatened to topple and crush you beneath the weight of a thousand T23 and A-104 forms. It would have been a mercy in comparison to the certain doom and degradation that would begin today with the simplest of accidents.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Allen,” your wife groveled, secretary to the most powerful man in the company, beside his brother who was overseeing expansion in the Far East. She stared in horror at the spilled coffee splashed all over his Gucci loafers. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

His hard face, masculinity personified, softened slightly to reveal a perfect set of pearly teeth. Arms, bulging with trained biceps and triceps, gently raised her to her feet. She was blushing with embarrassment and could not meet his gaze. Beside his towering 6’ 3” frame, she felt secure and safe. In the exertion, his cologne, intertwined with his pheromones, had wafted over her; she was consumed by his aura and could hardly stand it any longer.

“Let’s discuss this in my office,” he said calmly in his deep voice. He sensed her embarrassment and wanted to resolve the matter privately. Leading her inside, he motioned to the chair beside his veritable throne.

“Please allow me to clean them for you,” she begged ...

... submissively, fearing for her very job.

“I would never have such a beautiful woman down at my feet,” he replied, forcing her alabaster cheeks to flush red. She glanced up into his green eyes, emerald oases between his defined brow and cheekbones. “A woman like you belongs by the side of a strong man. You should be the queen to a king.”

She could hardly speak as her heart raced, forcing her breath to needy panting. Her body ached for him, and she knew that he wanted to ravish her right there on the mahogany desk where million-dollar deals were made. Then, she remembered you. “Please allow my husband to clean up the mess?”

He thought over her suggestion for a moment, struggling to even remember your name. Some lowly peon in the lower sections, he hadn’t bothered to interact with you in many years. Mr Allen raised the phone to his ear and summoned you into his presence.

“Yes, Mr Allen! Right away, Mr Allen!” you had said, utterly respectful to your boss. Practically running, you raced to the elevator and ascended to the top floor. Sweat trickling down your neck, you knocked upon the door that separated the veritable ruler of the company and the peasants who thanked him for their very jobs. A grunt of approval permitted you entry. As you practically bowed to your superior, you noticed your wife sat beside him. “My love?”

“There was a small accident,” Mr Allen said before your wife could even open your mouth. “A problem solver? Isn’t that what your resume said? There’s a ...