Over the Desk Read online

  Copyright 2020 by Nawtay Brat

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals is purely coincidental. The following content is intended for mature audiences. All characters are consenting, legal aged adults.

  Are you eager to read about naughty wanton girls getting their wet, tempting pussies spread, stretched, and filled to the hilt? How about massive throbbing cocks ploughing into tight virgin holes?

  Good, because they’re ready for you…

  “I’M GONNA DOMINATE THAT TIGHT LITTLE PUSSY AND MAKE HER BEG FOR THIS COCK.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The swish of the swinging kitchen door affords me intermittent glimpses of the lavish banquet hall where the rich gather in small pockets around various food stations. Why hadn't I supervised the banquet staff when they put up the stations?

  Instead of venturing out beyond the safety of the large kitchen I stayed on the sidelines watching as people ate my food out of order. When Mr. Stone hired me as caterer for his black tie party he'd given me free reign over the menu stating only that he wanted a theme.

  Fine, I could handle themes. I loved themes. But the theme had a set pattern. A flow. Eating the food in the wrong order wasn't the end of the world but I knew his guests would love it even more than they already appeared to if their palettes had consumed the food in the order it was meant to be eaten.

  A waitress rushed into the kitchen carrying empty trays. Though it wasn't her job she picked up another tray of the chicken dish and brought it out to replenish the empty station. I watched the guests mill about.

  The fake laughs, bored stares and false compliments made me feel even more out of place than I already felt. Back home you didn't pretend to like someone just to convince them to do business with you.

  You were honest. Treated people honestly and that came back to you a hundred fold.

  A flash of light from the chandelier glinted off a woman's diamond necklace. One stone from her jewelry would have fed my family for a month I guessed. Not that I regretted growing up poor.

  You learned to get by with less but we'd still been happy. And you don't miss what you never had. Now that I was standing here so close to the wealth I still felt so very far away.

  A little catering business wouldn't keep me in diamonds and designer dresses.

  I looked down at my simple black dress that hugged my curves. I couldn't afford another one so I had to make due with last year's clothes. Since buying it I'd put on a few more pounds, rounded out my hips, swelling my breasts.

  At least the dress still covered everything and it wasn't too tight. Yet.

  I watched Mr. Stone's guests as they ate my food. Eyes fluttered closed and faint moans of delight reached the kitchen. One lady popped a morsel of chicken in her mouth then grabbed five more from the tray eating each one slower than the last.

  Screwing up my courage I lifted a hand to the door prepared to push and walk into the dining area. A giggle floated through the air mingled with the sound of clinking cutlery.

  I pulled my hand back and walked to the kitchen sink. My stomach grumbled as the smell of food filled my nostrils. I'd been so nervous getting everything ready for the party I hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

  I walked back to the door again. I could do this. They were just people. Rich, beautiful, thin people who could ruin me if they hated the food.

  As the caterer should I even attempt to mingle with them? There was no way I was going to get over my fears unless I confronted them.

  I squared my shoulders and pushed through the door.

  I scanned the room searching for Mr. Stone. Not that it would help even if I did spot him. I had no idea what the man looked like. All of our business had been conducted over the phone or through email. His avatar for his email was his company logo not a picture of the man himself.

  "Have you tried the chicken? You simply must. It's to die for." A woman in a long black slinky dress held our her arm stopping me from moving any farther into the room.

  "Thank you," I said.

  She looked at me quizzically.

  "I'm the caterer."

  "My dear, you are a genius with food. I love this."

  I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks. The more they liked my food the more chances I had of landing other catering jobs. I pulled out a small stack of business cards and put a few on the table beside the chicken.

  I nodded my thanks at the woman then I made my way to another station. This one was laden high with my sweets. Family recipes mixed in with new recipes gave the offerings a mix of old and new. Comforting, familiar sweets mixed with new delights.

  Surreptitiously checking the room again to make sure no one was watching, I placed a few business cards on the table.

  If I'd known how hard it would be to muster up business I might have stayed in the South instead of moving to LA for a fresh start. Who was I kidding? As much as I loved home there was only so much business I could do there.

  My home town wasn't exactly known for their fancy soirees. Los Angeles was the best place for me I just wish I fit in better here.

  Another group of rich people milled about my appetizer station. I waited for them to move off but they hovered around the food like it was the last morsels on earth.

  When another waitress arrived to refill the station they parted to allow her access then pounced on the appetizers as soon as she moved away.

  From across the room I watched a handsome gentleman wearing a perfectly fitted tuxedo work the room. He smiled as he went, shaking hands with the men, brushing air kisses on the women's cheeks.

  He stopped at my entree station and popped a bite into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed, he tilted his back slightly. He chewed slowly, swallowed. Then he piled a plate with my chicken pieces with only a dollop of the rice.

  I watched his long elegant fingers, his strong hands, wondering who he was. I still didn't know all the players in town when it came to high society. Sure, the celebrities were easy.

  I saw them all the time on TV, in movies, splashed on the cover of grocery store rag magazines. But the wealthy were rich without the flash for the most part. Unless a paper or a magazine did a piece on them for some philanthropic gesture they tended to fade to the back of my mind.

  I hated that I'd been star struck when I first arrived. I should have been paying more attention to who else attended the parties. I still had no idea how Mr. Stone had found me but I wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. I hoped he liked everything and would hire me again.

  The man I'd been watching moved to another station still carrying his plate of rapidly dwindling chicken. He clapped another man on the back when he finally arrived at the appetizer station.

  He glanced up at me and flashed a smile. I smiled back wanting the column I stood beside to swallow me. I felt like the help.

  He popped the last pieces of chicken into his mouth and piled his plate with appetizers. The stations were so out of order I cringed when he took a bite of the pot sticker. He didn't seem to notice. He nodded, chewing his food as a smile spread across his angular face.

  "Beth, come meet some people." He said in my direction.

  I looked around to see if there was anyone standing near me. He chuckled and motioned me over again.

  I shuffled over, eyes focused on the floor.

  "Beth, I'm Mr. Stone." He took my hand, the heat from his touch travelled up my body and set off sparks of awareness. The light brush of his lips on my hand made my knees weak.

  Slickening heat settled between my legs. With a brief touch on my hand my pussy throbbed to life with aching awareness of Mr. Stone.

  "Mr. Stone, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," I said looking up into impossibly blue eyes. The gr
in he flashed me set my heart racing.

  "The pleasure is all mine, Beth. Tell me about your menu. It's quite interesting."

  He moved his hand to the small of my back sending a jolt of sensation through me. Even through the thick material I felt the warmth of his hand.

  "Well, it's a collection really. Of lots of different foods. Flavors I mean. Lots of different flavors."

  Heat tinged my cheeks and I wanted the floor to swallow me whole now. His smile widened. Those blue eyes gazed into mine until I felt like we were the only two people in the room.

  He took a deep breath and I matched his breathing. It helped a little. I felt a little more calm. But then I opened my mouth to speak and the calm evaporated.

  "So chicken. Spices. You know spices that go with chicken. And sweets! I have sweets."

  Why did he keep staring at me like he could devour me? He moved a little closer until I nestled flush against his body. His hand moved up from the small of my back to rest on my shoulder.

  Heat rushed between my legs again. Months since the last time I'd had sex, the slightest contact from a handsome man had my pussy wet and willing. How would I get through the rest of the evening if Mr. Stone kept touching me?

  I wanted him to touch other places. I wanted his hands between my legs or cupping my breasts. Strong hands with long fingers, he could work magic on me.

  I sucked in a breath and tried to focus on the faces in front of me. The amused faces with eyes that sparkled under the dim lights. All attention was focused on me and I wanted to crawl away.

  Wanted to retreat to the kitchen where it was safe and no one asked me about my menu. No one cared what was in it or how long it took to make. They simply refilled the empty dishes, cleared tables and loaded the dishwasher.

  "Good to know. There are spices. I got that from the few pieces I had." Mr. Stone squeezed my shoulder reassuringly.

  "They are delicious, my dear," the woman with the black slinky dress said as she approached the station.

  I flashed her a smile of thanks afraid I would ramble again if I tried to speak.

  "I was just about to try the sweets," he gestured to the confectionery table. "Am I to assume they're sweet?"

  Mortified, I nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. I usually hang around the kitchen. I'm not used to people asking me what's in the food."

  "You really should mingle more then, Beth. The guests appear to love the food. It's quite good. You're a talented chef."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Of course as with anything you still have a lot you can improve upon."

  His gaze traveled up and down my body, a frown tugging at his lips. "You're still quite far from perfection."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "That's quite all right. No need to be sorry. We can work on you."

  The others at the table slipped away, knowing smiles on their faces. Feeling suddenly trapped by a wild animal she watched them go then turned her attention back to Mr. Stone.

  "Work on me? What does that mean exactly?"

  He ran a hand down my arm, tugging at the material of my dress as he went. "What is this? Wool?"

  "Yes. It can get cold in these banquet halls."

  He looked down at my shoes. Ones I'd picked up three years ago on sale before I made the trip to LA.

  "And those shoes. I've seen elderly women with better taste in foot attire."

  I bristled at his comments but couldn't deny their truthfulness. "These were the best I could afford at the time."

  "And since then have you been able to stash some money away to purchase more suitable clothing?"

  "Maybe." Not that it was any of his business but I had been squirreling money away every month hoping to have enough for new equipment for the business. If I needed to network more to get business I could add clothes to the list.

  "Do you want this business to be successful, Beth?"

  The familiarity with which he used my name made me wonder if we'd met before. He didn't tell me how he'd found my business.

  Or why he'd settled on me when there were other catering businesses out there with a lot more experience at these kinds of parties than I have.

  "Of course I do. It takes time for a business to get off the ground though. I'm doing what I can."

  "If you're serious meet me in the banquet hall's private office. I have a business opportunity for you."

  My heart raced. Images of dollars raining down on me filled my head as I ticked off imaginary parties I would cater. One recommendation from Mr. Stone could put me on the map here.

  The speed with which the others had left the table ran through my mind. Did they just want to give them some privacy because they knew Mr. Stone wanted to talk business? That didn't make sense because he didn't want to talk here.

  "A private office?"

  "Yes. Will you meet me in an hour?"

  The predatory look he gave me had my flight response kicking into overdrive. He softened his look with a smile. He caressed my cheek with a strong hand then cupped my chin.

  He gazed into my eyes as if trying to read my mind. If he could do that I would be in trouble. Images of him taking me over the desk in the office filled my mind.

  "Sure. In an hour."

  "Good. Don't be late. I don't like it when people are late."

  He walked off to the next table to sample my sweets. Alone at the appetizer table I remembered to pull out some business cards and put them beside the dishes.

  Would I regret my decision to meet him? The thought of not going tugged at me but I had already promised. If I disappointed him would he give me a bad review?

  Would he slam my business all over town so I didn't get another catering job?

  He had the power to do that and worse.

  The delighted sounds of people enjoying their food soothed my nerves. I loved when people liked what I made.

  As I made my way back to the kitchen another waitress came out to refill the empty dishes again. Since the party had started a few hours ago they had been filling the dishes constantly.

  I hurried through the swinging door and sat on a chair in front of the large prep table. My stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Mr. Stone alone.

  Had I imagined his sexual interest, was it just wishful thinking?

  I kept my gaze glued to the clock on the wall as it ticked away the minutes. I was afraid that if I started to do something I would lose track of time and be late for my meeting. I got absorbed in tasks with the whole world falling away until I finished what I'd started.

  I knew where the private office was. I'd seen the banquet steward when I first arrived to set up the tables and put the final touches on some of the dishes. With five minutes to spare I took a deep breath, pushed myself off my chair and made my way down the hall.

  I knocked on the door and waited for Mr. Stone's gruff, "Come in."

  CHAPTER TWO

  The aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the kitchen making my stomach grumble in appreciation. I pulled the last batch out of the oven and put the cookie sheet on the stove to cool.

  This would be the ones I presented to Mr. Stone. After hours of baking I’d finally gotten a batch with the perfect consistency, the perfect texture, the perfect shape. Even though they’d spread out during baking they were all still symmetrical.

  Breathing a sigh of relief I whisked off the apron I’d thrown on to protect the dress Mr. Stone had bought for me. It was one of many, the only clothes I was allowed to wear now that I was his personal cook.

  And nine times out of ten it was dresses. Occasionally he would allow me to wear skirts as long as I paired it with a nice blouse. He’d thrown away all of my pants except one pair of jeans I was allowed to wear on Saturdays when he was out playing golf.

  Once the cookies cooled enough to move them I transferred six to a tray that already had date squares on one side. I’d used his mother’s recipe for both trying to get them perfect, the way he remembered them growing up.

  I wasn’t allowed
to eat them unless he was there so I had to wait until he tried them to find out how they tasted.

  I took a deep breath and balanced the tray on one hand. When I was sure it was steady I made my way down the hall to his office. The door was open but I knocked anyway so as not to startle him.

  He looked up at me and grinned. “Come in, Beth. I see you brought treats.”

  I hurried into the room and set the tray on the desk. I waited for him to pick a treat. His hand hovered over the cookies then moved to the dates then back to the cookies. Finally he selected a cookie.