My first internship was arranged by an incompetent woman who had no idea what was doing, why else would I a journalism major be stuck at a software company. I spent my hours collating, photocopying and stapling. It was pretty boring up until the day they reassigned me.

I came in that morning wearing what I usually did. Basically I wore the same ill fitting “formal clothes” I wore to church, each garment carefully chosen by my mother to hide every curve that the god of puberty had graciously bestowed upon me. I was a frump master, to put it mildly.

It was really no surprise to me at all that I was mostly ignored, people handed me things , mispronouncing my name and never took much notice of me. I was a bit relieved when I was told that I was going to be assigned to be Mr. Chien as his new personal assistant, even if I didn’t give a shit about the job it made me feel pretty good that I was doing well enough to be promoted.

I had noticed him since the first day I arrived he was tall with beautiful calm sun kissed Chinese skin. He had a cocky air to him that one had to respect because as soon as he opened his mouth you knew he earn it. He was the first in the office and the last to leave. There’s something admirable, at least to me about rich people that have good work ethics.

I tried not to keep my eyes on his sly seductive smile. It was a daily treat to knock on his door and hand him his morning latté. I paid close attention to him on my first day and saw that he put two sugars and one sweet and low in his coffee cup then half and half before pouring his coffee. The guy that was hired before me never was much for details and kept bringing him his coffee black. Big mistake.

Even though I was his assistant I didn’t actually get to have a conversation with him. I was pretty much his coffee and Danish bitch. Most days he didn’t even look up from whatever file he was working on to talk to me. He would just bark for his beverage. I would always make him his beverage compliantly until one Friday when he decided to extend our usually four or five word conversations.

“Coffee girl, my office.” Mr. Chien demanded.

I hurriedly finished stirring his coffee, grabbing napkins before meekly making my way into his office. I set his napkin down on his NJ Jets coaster and placed his coffee on it. Then I tried to make a quick exit.

“ Didn’t tell you to leave yet Coffee girl. “

I froze in my tracks and turned around, looking at his Kenneth Cole shoes.

“Sorry, sir, would you like a Danish?”

“Maybe later, but we need to talk “

I nervously wrung my hands and managed to smile, “ What about , sir?”

“Don’t wear that outfit again.” He said .

“Excuse me? “ I said looking him in the eye for the first time that semester. He walked closer to me and closed the door, resting his arm on the doorframe. He seemed to tower above me.

“ Why would a girl your age even own a dress like that, and the sweater over it? Christ”

I found myself glaring at him, I suddenly remembered that his recommendation meant my grade and I tried to soften my features.

“ Well sir, what would you like me to wear?”

He chuckled as he walked to his desk and sipped his coffee.

“ Something a little more appropriate, something that is actually your size.”

“Can I leave now?” I said trying to hide my anger.

“Oh yeah, sure.”

I turned around and tried to calmly open the door before I could get my foot out of the door he called.

“Oh, do something with you hair too and a little make up wouldn’t kill you.”
I stormed back to my cramped work area to sulk. I had never had a man tear into my looks. It was unfair of him to berate me when I was obviously trying hard to be professional. I deserved a medal for somehow covering the cleavage that was bound to come from 40G breasts. I never wore high heels that would have called attention to my long legs and wide round hips. Nothing tight ever covered my ample and perky ass. I never wore make up to play up my soft afro-Asian features. I was being a good employee.

Fuck this job, I thought as I made Mr. Chien his 1:15 coffee, I made sure to dump 8 packets of salt in it and put in generous helping of skin milk. I took my cell phone out of my purse and txt’d my best friend.

U , ME – Mall NOW

I walked into his office and set the coffee down, he was on the phone talking to someone that most likely just as big an asshole as he was he didn’t acknowledge me at all. Just as well, I thought.

My best friend Mejin was waiting by the time I got off the elevator, the office complex was only 2 blocks away from school and almost all the seniors got stuck here. She was stuck at an accounting firm even though she was a biology major. She was pretty and Asian in a sea of white nerds so she came and went as she pleased and no one ever really questioned it.

“ Work that shitty?”

“ I need a new a outfit, my boss finds this offensive.”

She looked me up and down and gave me a quizzical look.

“ Whatever dude” she said with a shrug we walked to her jalopy and headed for the shopping center.

My father always gave me a credit card of his for emergencies and I could imagine a more appropriate use for it. We burned through the mall building a more appropriate ensemble for myself, between getting our nails, feet and hair done. I headed to the Mac counter.

“ Make me look like a porn star.” I asked the girl at the counter, thinking of the commission she complied.

750 dollars and 4 hours later, I emerged looking more like a video vixen than frumpy member of my high school’s Christian Club. I had found a pair of 5 inch black heels that accompanied the black lace top thigh highs I bought. They were attached carefully to the lacy red and black corset I bought from Fredrick’s of Hollywood. I knew that the slit in the smart black pencil skirt was long enough to show the seams of the thigh-highs running dangerously up my long dancer’s legs. My breasts sat piled into the cups of the corset and tested the strength newly acquired crisp white dress shirts buttons’.

“I don’t know about appropriate, but you defiantly look hot.” Mejin said with a giggle.

“Are my nylons straight?” I asked

“Yep, we should be getting back, I need to punch out.”

I walked through the mall loving ever second of male attention I was getting. This was the N’jaila I was used to being. Not the church marm that everyone at Maxios Software thought I was.

Getting back to the building I said my good-byes to Mejin and made my way back to the office. The office manager almost broke his neck to get a second look at me as he left the office. I held my head up and walked confidently enjoying the music my heels made on the tiled floor.

By this time Mr. Chien was the only one still in the office, and certainly the only person in our department still working. He must have heard my heels clicking toward him because he was at his office door seemingly waiting for me.

“Coffee girl?” he looked quizzically.

“People have names you know.”

I walked past him into the office. I noticed that in my heels I was practically the same height as him. I walked up to his precious desk and plopped my rear on it, no need for a coaster or a napkin. I made sure that when I crossed my legs he would get a little peak at my thigh and the lace of my nylons.

“Is there something you want?” He asked walking slowly to me.

I smiled at him, ready to tell him just how much of an ass he was, and how much he could lick the whole of my booty, when he did something unexpected. Mr. Chien knelt before me and began to kiss and fondle the top of my shoe.

“Umm, what are you doing.”

“ You were about to tell me off weren’t you?”

“Well, – yes, I was”, he was running his fingers up the long seem of my black stockings, it was distracting, but I still corrected myself.

He stood and leaned into me almost whispering in my ear, “ what were you going to tell me.”

“I am going to tell you you’re an asshole.”

“Oh , really?” He said as he started lifting my skirt , he bent down again and kissed and licked my garter and the flesh of my thigh. “ Tell me what you think of me” He groaned between lingering kisses.

“ I think you’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. You’re rude , belligerent and everyone can tell you’re miserable human being, and I hope you choked on that salty coffee.”

“Hmm , that it?” he said in his usual condescending tone, for some reason it was exceptionally offensive, before I could stop myself my hand was connecting with his face.

My hand immediately recoiled to cover my own shocked face, he was either going to retaliate or have security escort me to ass pounding prison. He looked up at me his hand on his red cheek looking as shocked as I was. Before I could begin sputtering insincere apologies, a slow and determined smile crept onto his full lips. When it was fully realized, he sprang from his feet, grasping my thighs and lifting my body, I landed on my back on his desk sending knick –knacks and sports memorabilia onto the floor.

His mouth found mine hungrily, desperately, my lipstick smearing on both our faces. My breast won the battle with my blouse and I could feel at least two buttons liberate themselves. My hands found his shoulders and I was torn between holding him closer or pushing him away. When I finally decided to push I found my efforts only excited him further, which l annoyed me further. I relaxed and let my body go limp. He stopped and took his lips out of mine, his tongue lingering on my full bottom lip.

“You okay?” He said.

I let my open palm answer, “ Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“You should be a boxer.” He said with his Cheshire cat grin.

“I hate you.”

“ You hate me so much you show up at my office after hours in crotchless panties and fuck-me-shoes?”

“I got them from Baker’s these are hardly fuck-me-shoes and you called me ugly.”

“ No, that’s a lie” He said fondling my right breast.

“You insinuated that I was ugly.” I said slapping his hand away.

“No,” he said playing with a ringlet of my hair, “I told you never to wear that outfit again.”

I rolled my eyes in frustration.

“So what were you trying to prove, that you’re fuckable?”

“You seemed unimpressed.” I said looking him in the eye challengingly.

“You know why I like you Coffee Girl, you are the only person in the office that tells me “fuck off” everyday.”

I began to wonder how he knew what I was texting to Mejin everyday.

“ I mean you don’t say it outright, “ he continued “ You sneak it into other phrases like, ‘good morning’ or ‘here’s your coffee’. Your lips deliver different words but the message is always the same ‘fuck off. “

“And?” I said dismissively, pushing him away.

“and I can’t remember anything turning me on this much in years.”

“Well, that says volumes about you , doesn’t it.”

“You can drop the act now?” He said coming closer to me.

“Act?”

“Yes, the Bitch act.”

“So you’re calling me a bitch, well isn’t this an HR nightmare.”

“ No, I said you’re acting like a bitch. Totally different.”

“Are you going to stop acting like and asshole?”

“Oh, I’m not acting,” he said with a chuckle,” I really am an asshole, but its part of
my charm.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Mostly because I couldn’t disagree with him. Since my first day on this miserable job he was the one person that I felt somewhat drawn too. There was really no reason for me to be so attentive to his nuances except that I enjoyed watching the way he moved around the office like a lion over-looking his prides. The brash veracity of her persona was in its essence, sexy.

“ So what if it is?” I said running my hands up his chest, and grabbing his
tie, pulling him back to me.

“I like this you a lot better.” He said, between kisses on my neck.

“ I’m the same girl, I just have my tits out.”

“And what great tits they are and fucking beautiful legs.”

He stood me up, to take a better look at me. I playfully shook my hips and pointed my toe to emphasis his point for him. He grabbed my swaying hips firmly and kissed me deeply. I could taste the coffee still on his tongue. His wondering hands slid from my hips and around my waist, back to my hips and around my bottom. I thought he was just enjoying the curves of my body, but when his left hand abruptly stopped at my side I realized he was looking for my skirt’s zipper. He had finally found it he wasted no time relieving me of it.

He slid it down my body slowly, past my hips, thighs and down to the floor. He knelt before me again, this time kissing the lacy boundary between my stockings and thigh. I let out a girlish giggle; his sweet breath tickled my sensitive skin. His kisses were light and warm, and unexpected pleasure resonated from every kiss. I ran my hands through his hair and gently guided is kisses to my honey pot. He hungrily accepted my offer.

I imagined how much his face was flushed with color and arousal, as his tongue explored me. He took me by surprise when he lifted me back onto his desk, and spread my legs so he could get a better view of me. Thanks to years of forced ballet classes I could almost do a full Russian split, I could almost see him fight his instinct to take his cell phone out and take a picture. He laid his hand on me and lightly stroked my clit.

“Do you minor in fucking or something?”

“ Eight years of ballet.” I said.

Mr. Chien bent his head down, and slowly licked my opening, still caressing my clit with his thumb. His lips and tongue were warm slowly rolled side to side and up and down, my hips moved with his motions and I tried to stop myself from moaning, but the sounds seem to come from someone else. They only got louder as he sucked on my stiff aroused clit.

I felt light headed, euphoric, taking in all the “wrong-ness of the act”, I didn’t know if he was married or not, he didn’t know if I had a boyfriend and neither of us cared. The only thing I cared about was his hot soft tongue and the pleasure it could give me.

I grabbed my breast and flicked my pinky fingers on my nipples. Mr. Chien was a master at cungulingus but my own soft touch sent me over the edge. He couldn’t hear my screams as my body violent rocked with orgasm, my legs instinctively closed in spasm. Despite the vise-like grip of my legs he never stopped lapping up my juices like the dog he was.

When I could control my extremities, I let Mr. Chein up for a breath of fresh air. He kissed my inner thighs as a covert way to wipe his mouth, I was going to point it out that I was on to him, but I benevolently gave him a pass.

As he got up , sat myself up and rested my hands on the edge of his desk. He
rested his head on my thigh.

“You’re skin is so soft, and smell like – “

“If you say chocolate I’m going to kick you in the face.” I said.

“Give me a little more credit than that, this isn’t ethnic kink,”

“Glad to hear it, but seriously this is getting into buzz kill territory.” I said as my hand rested on his shoulder. He stood and my hand glides down his form, to his waist. He kept himself in excellent shape for a man his age, or at least for what I thought a 40 year old would look like.

“Let’s see what you got,” I said as I began to tug at his belt buckle.

My hands eagerly attacked hi belt and pants, until he was standing before me in all his glory. It was a better looking than I thought. I always pegged him as a guy that would trim but he was completely shaved. He wasn’t the longest but he was thick and healthy. All in all it was as handsome as one could expect from genitals.

“So what do you think?” he said.

“It’s okay.” I said feigning indifference.

“ Just okay?” He said grabbing me playfully.

“Yeah, but I still want to try it out.” I purred into his ear.

With more vitality and energy than I could have expected from a man my own age, he tightened his grip on me, swiped the remaining contents of his desk to the floor and laid me on my back in what seemed like one amazing fluid motion. He buried himself in the valley of my breasts. His tongue made a soft wet hot journey to my mouth where his lips devoured mine. He fingers danced about my sweet spot and I couldn’t wait to take him inside me.

He entered me with the same varicosity and hunger that he used to lay me out on his desk. Every one of his thrusts resulted in a burst of pleasure and it seemed with ever burst there was another thrust accompanied by a satisfying slap. His hands closed on my waist forcing my back to arch. His strong hands felt like heaven as they grasped me, as I slowly whined my waist grinding my clit against his pelvis.

I imagined how comical this might look, my boss and I screaming and grunting like animals on his desk. I didn’t care, I was in the moment, and at that moment I was being filled to my limit and loving every second of it. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to climax and I wanted him to feel as good as he was making me feel.

” I’m going to cum.” I screamed.

My pleasure encouraged his thrusts and pounded my pussy until I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My arms lay useless at my side as I convulsed as if placed in a sea of orgasms and the waves were crashing against my body. My vaginal muscles grasped and massaged him and soon he was rocking against me adrift in his own ocean. We stayed wrapped up in each other until we had our wits with us again. He withdrew from me and slide from the desk and picked my skirt up from the floor.

Mr.Chien face was comically flustered, red and sweaty but a look of complete satisfaction. He looked on his desk and picked up on of my earrings that I hadn’t notice I’d lost.

” Is this yours Coffee- well…?”

“N’jaila and you?”

“Patrick.”

” Really, I wouldn’t have guessed, you looked more like an Eric to me, maybe a David.” , I said trying to straighten my hair.

He laughed as he buckled his belt, “Well, I don’t think I can even spell your name, but it suits you.”

“So… do you want me to fix your desk back?”

“It can wait until Monday.”

“Oh,” I said ” I should , um .. go home now.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Well, its not like it could get any more awkward, and you don’t have to worry about putting out too soon, becuase you’ve already done that.”

Against my better judgment I nodded my head in agreement, at least I already knew he was a decent lay.

A Day At the Office by N’jaila Rhee is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at www.blasianbytchblog.blogspot.com.