Girl Friday
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Story Codes:   m/f,  Consensual,            

Girl Friday
By Benjamin Silas Foster

Elane was private dick Dick Mason's girl Friday and his private adoration. His days were made brighter by
watching her voluptuous ass run in and out of his office when bringing him steaming cups of coffee or new
case files, or at times when she would bend over his desk with her blouse unbuttoned ever so slightly to show
him a specific clue she'd caught in an otherwise overlooked crime scene photo, showing off her bra-less bust
line and perky pink nipples. She'd helped him solve over thirty otherwise un-crackable cases and those nights
after the break, in the glow of whiskey intoxication, they'd known each other intimately, her purple painted
fingernails and soft palms sliding down his trousers, his own battle hardened hands tearing at the rest of her
blouse buttons. Though even in the bounds of their day to day relationship it was uniquely and intimately their
own, as Mason would often call his muse from her desk in times of high stress to pull up her skirt, take down
her lace panties, bend her over his desk, and spank her ass with a riding crop until he grew so hard he had to
be inside her. She knew Mason was one of the most brilliant crime stopping minds in the city and was happy to
do whatever she could, and be as subservient as he liked, to keep him in a place to solve them. Today
however, was different.

Today as Mason opened the door to his office, flustered from a career making, yet stalled, Diamond heist
investigation and arriving late to work, Elane sat in his office chair, her black 5 inch heels crossed on a stack of
manila envelopes on top of his oak desk, in her trademark short skirt and ass-less stockings, her purple
blouse unbuttoned ever so slightly but sheer enough her petite excited breasts were perfectly visible anyway.
Today she wore no panties and her bare skin stuck momentarily to the vinyl as she got up from the chair. She
carried the riding crop with her, running her index and middle finger up and down its shaft as she walked
toward him, one heel in front of the other.

When she was just out of his reach she stopped and brought the tip of the crop to tickle the bulge building at
the crotch of his satin trousers. She circled him and took his coat and fedora, taking only a second to hang
them on the coat rack behind her before wrapping her hands around his waist and snapping lose the button at
the front of his pants, letting them fall to the floor.

“Drop your boxers” She instructed him; and he did so promptly.

She brought the leather riding crop up to his ass and rubbed the leather against his right cheek before giving
it a hard three succession smack, he was almost thrown off balance by it but his cock jumped hard with each
strike and on the third her soft palm, fingernails painted purple, came around to cup his balls and the base of
his thick erectness. Slowly and steadily she began to relieve him, her hand working up and down, hardly big
enough to fit all the way around him. He gasped in ecstasy and moved his battle hardened hands back and
between her legs and up until he felt the wetness of her, until Elane’s lips parted and allowed him access to the
warm flowing nature of her. It spilled through his fingers and off his hand and dripped onto the hard wood floor
and the toe of her high heels as her tiny hand worked harder and pumped him faster.

She came back around him then, still holding fast to his hard cock. As she continued to jack him off he buried
his face in her blouse, running his tongue over her hard, erect, nipples, sucking them through the fabric,
holding them between his teeth causing her to cry with passion as one hand ran its way up to tease her tits the
other, shielded by her mini skirt, massaged her tight clit as it pulsed on his finger, her legs weakened, and she
came gushing hard, into his hand, and screaming his name like he’d never heard.

She pulled him down into the office chair, and kissed him hard before dropping to her knees in front of him.
For a moment she continued to pump him, now with both of her tiny, soft, manicured hands wrapped around
his mighty cock, before she enveloped his head in her lips, letting her tongue flick across it inside her mouth.
She held his legs in her hands, and he took her hair in his and helped her take the foremost of his shaft
between her cheeks.

With his cock filling up her lips and pressing at the back of his throat, Mason noticed an newly arrived open
folder on his desk, one she must have knocked open with her high heel earlier when she’d greeted him. At the
top of the folder reads its contents: “Downtown jewel heist” and inside he looks at a black and white photo from
behind of the perp, A voluptuous ass in a shiny dark one piece, he doesn’t need the alternate angle to know
who he’s looking at, he stares at that ass all day.

Elane stared up at Mason, and he looked down at her, her hair still wrapped up in his fist and his still rock hard
cock pressing the back of her throat. He pushed her head down on him and helped her swallow the rest of his
shaft, he pumped himself inside her mouth and down her throat before he pulls her up and onto him. He pulls
her legs apart and sits her down on Dick’s huge dick, he feels her wetness slide apart for him and he thrusts
inside her picking her up and bringing her down with ever spasm of his cock. Her purple painted finger nails
dig into his back and he lifts her onto the desk, still inside her, knocking the jewelry heist folder into the trash
bin, her legs spread over it and his hard shaft moving in and out of her pussy harder than ever as she
screams his name like she never has before. Her hands holding on to the desk frame, her eyes rolling back in
her head.

They cum together, and hard, Mason can’t remember jizzing so much in his life and his dick was still dripping
from her. She still sat with her legs open over the trash bin, catching her breath, lighting a cigarette. As their
conjoined cum leaked from Elane’s still throbbing pussy it dripped from the edge of the oak desk and down into
the trash bin, leaving long white streaks across the black and white photo of herself making off with the

Benjamin Silas Foster is a freelance writer, singer-songwriter, and lifelong student of the arts, based in Russell Springs,
Kentucky. A raw, emotional, and heartfelt story teller, no matter the medium, inciting his work with his signature poetic nuances,
Benjamin is a young up-and-comer just hitting his prime that is sure not to be missed.