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I manage a used auto parts shop—although the place is more
like a junkyard. Not exactly a glamour job, but I’m good at it. A customer
comes in, asks for a gas cap for an ‘84 Ford Escort, or a carburetor for a ‘79
Dodge Dart, and I have my grubby hands on it in minutes.
I got four guys working for me and one girl, the secretary.
That’s where I get the most trouble in my business, with the secretaries. I
need a sharp girl who can type, answer phones, write up orders and do the bookkeeping.
Problem is, most good secretaries want to work in a higher class environment
where they can wear nice clothes. For a while I had a dyke who came to work in
overalls and loved it, but she split for Califomia.
So when Gabriella, a dark and sultry Brazilian, showed up
for an interview wearing a perfectly pressed navy blue suit, the skirt halfway
up her ass, and six-inch heels, I figured she wouldn’t last a day. Halfway through
the interview she tells me she’s illegal, no green card, and asks if she can be
paid under the table. She looks scared when she asks, like maybe I’m gonna call
La Migra. But my brain is clicking away—she’s desperate, she’ll never find a
plush office job off the books; maybe she’ll stay awhile. I hired her on the
spot.
Gabriella worked out great. Her English was better than
mine, she was a typing and bookkeeping whiz, and she was a dish to look at,
with her long mane of jet black curls, olive skin, almond eyes and hour-glass
figure. What’s more, she dressed like she was working in the front office of a
TV network or something—creamy silk blouses, short tight skirts, the whole nine
yards. Unlike other secretaries who’d worked for me, though, Gabriella was so
calm and meticulous that she never seemed to catch her nylons on a rusty fender
or rub her sleeve on a greasy spark plug. When she left at five she looked the
same as when she came in at nine.
The guys loved her, but they didn’t mess with her. For one
thing, she was polite and friendly, but strictly professional. More important,
every day her husband showed up to take her home. Jorge was a big dark South American,
over six feet tall, and the first time Gabriella introduced him he gave us each
a look we couldn’t fail to understand: mess with my woman, I’ll rip your balls off.
One day after she’d been working for me around six months,
Gabriella drove herself to work. When I asked where Jorge was, she said he’d
gone back to Brazil for a couple of weeks to see his sick mom. That day she went
out for lunch—usually she ate at her desk—and came back with a bunch of
shopping bags. I wondered why she brought them in instead of just leaving them
in the car, but soon forgot about it.
At five everyone split and, as usual, I closed up, pulling
the blinds down, locking the doors. It had been a long, hot day. I got a Bud
out of the fridge and sat down in Gabriella’s chair with my feet up on her
desk, chugging my beer and smoking. Suddenly my eye fell on two big shopping
bags beneath the desk. She’d forgotten them. I caught a glimpse of something
frilly hanging out, and my curiosity was stirred.
I finished my beer and opened another, my eyes roving every
so often to the shopping bags. Finally I said what the hell and opened them.
Gabriella must have spent her lunch hour running around to
every lingerie store in the city. One after another I pulled out her purchases—garter
belts, panties, bras, teddies, in every color of the rainbow. I knew I shouldn’t
be snooping, but I couldn’t stop myself. As I fondled the material my dick came
to life. I could just see Gabriella in the skimpy underthings, and it made my
cock hard. I laid out an outfit on the desk in the pattern of her body,
unzipped my fly and started stroking.
Just as I was going for the top, the key turned in the lock.
Frantically I shoved my throbbing dick back into my pants and zipped up. I was
about to scoop the underwear back into the bags when Gabriella walked through
the door.
I felt like I had shit all over my face. Gabriella’s mouth
dropped in surprise, but in a split second she recovered and, to my amazement,
smiled warmly.
“I forgot my
packages,” she said, and then, with her eyes on the bulge in my pants, said
teasingly, “but I see they’re in good hands.”
I just stood there feeling like a total jerk. I didn’t know
what the fuck to say. Gabriella came over and put a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s okay, Jimmy, it’s normal.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, and started stuffing her things into the
bags. I couldn’t look her in the eye.
“Oh, don’t put them away,” Gabriella said. “Why waste an
opportunity like this?”
Now I did look at her, my eyes popping out of my head. “Are
you nuts?”
“Don’t be scared. Jorge is thousands of miles away, and
while the cat’s away... Wouldn’t you like to see what these look like on?”
“Gabriella, I...” I thought she was teasing me to get even, and
I wanted to apologize, but before I knew it she was stripping off her clothes
and stepping into the panties. She picked out a matching bra and hooked it on,
but not before I’d caught sight of her perfectly round brown globes with
nipples the size of half dollars.
“You think Jorge will like this?” she asked, coming closer.
“Yeah, I’m sure he will,” I mumbled.
“Take out your cock,” she whispered.
“Gabriella...”
“Take it out.”
What could I do? Maybe she just wanted to torture me as
revenge. Maybe I’d end up dead in a pile of scrap metal if old Jorge ever found
out. But at the moment I had no choice but to give in to the raging hard-on pushing
against my zipper. I opened it and my eight inches popped out. Gabriella’s eyes
took in my meat and she nodded. “Nice one. Stroke it for me.”
In a trance I pulled and stretched my dick, watching her
reactions. After a minute she knelt before me, took it into her mouth and
sucked like a vacuum, looking up at me with her almond eyes.
The girl could suck as good as she typed. I moaned and ran
my fingers through her thick hair. After a long and thorough suck she stood and
peeled off her flimsy underwear, and climbed onto my lap. Straddling me in the
office chair, she positioned her cunt over my pole and slid herself down, throwing
back her head and shutting her eyes in ecstasy. I let her ride me, bouncing up
and down, while I licked and sucked her juicy nipples, ran my tongue up her
neck, then back down her tits and across her flat brown belly. She moaned and groaned
and wiggled and shoved, hanging onto me for dear life. Unable to hold off any
longer, I shot my load into her wet pussy. As my thrusts subsided, Gabriella held
me tighter. “Don’t take it out,” she whispered, moving her hand to her clit.
She pressed it steadily, moving her cunt in tiny circles around my still hard dick.
She began to whimper until her whimpers grew into moans and finally a
blood-curdling scream as she bounced like a jockey crossing the finish line.
I’d never seen a woman have such a noisy, violent and
prolonged orgasm, and it drove me wild. I was ready for more, but Gabriella
collapsed against me, her fingers making little circles on my hairy chest.
She sighed. “Oh, Jimmy, that was fabulous.” Slowly she
climbed off of me and got dressed, this time in her regular clothes.
Afterglow melted into fear. Would she tell Jorge? Did she do
this kind of thing often? Would we do it again? Would it change our work
relationship?
Gabriella left with hardly another word, and I spent the
entire night worrying about it. But the next day she came in, cool and
professional as always, just as if nothing had happened between us. And that’s
how it’s been ever since.
Except...last week I was looking for something in Gabriella’s
desk when I spotted a brown wrapper with my name scribbled lightly across it in
pencil. I opened it up and found the red panties, no longer new, their crotch
slightly crusty. I lifted them to my face and sniffed the scent of Gabriella—a
rich combination of pussy, mocha and cinnamon. I smiled and took the panties
home. Now, whenever I want, I can wrap Gabriella around my dick and jack off,
remembering.
—Jimmy D.
