Message-ID: <19329eli$9901250512@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: rb@redrose.net (Timothy Reisling Betticut) Subject: TG - The Boss by Timothy Reisling Betticut Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: rb@redrose.net MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <36ab68c4.60111395@news.giganews.com> The Boss By Timothy Reisling Betticut (c)1995 SkinFictionStudios: Not to be reposted or archived without the author's written authorization _______________________________________________________ NOTE: Here's a hot little piece from the SkinFictionStudio archives. Want to see more free and new... new ... new work by Timothy Reisling Betticut? Surf on over to www.geocities.com/~elayneb and enjoy. _______________________________________________________ The red head's jade eyes popped wide, "Not in the other room. NO! Not dressed like this! Not to him." *** *** *** Tim came to Simone for counselling after the new rule. Mc Cormick said no smoking anywhere at the bank. And Mc Cormick was one damn strict CEO. Tim couldn't stop. Cold turkey, gum, funny sucking things, mail order stuff - nothing worked. His job. Too much tension. Banks didn't need commercial loan officers in real estate. After the S&L's nova'd and the markets went south, heads rolled. He was the last in the training program... holding on somehow. Any way. Sell money. Find qualified borrowers. But don't get burnt. Of course he smoked. Twenty nine years old, the last five with the bank since M.BA. Had to hold on. Now how to stop? Ashley recommended Simone. Snug butt Ashley in her skinny skirts and heart breaking heels. Secretary to no one, yet on somebody's pay roll at the bank. On the days she bothered to come at all, she sat looking sexy and bored. Ashley, a lightening rod for the sexual passions of every man in the division. Mysterious Ashley caught Tim sneaking a smoke in the janitor's closet. Hell, where else? The washroom was too public and the Loan Division was thirty stories up surrounded by sealed glass. Ashley told him how she'd been hooked, gone to Simone for counselling. "You know," she spoke with the squeal actresses use as a short cut to make you think 'dumb broad', "My life really changed after that. Like magic or something. I never," she looked down at the golden spandex dress struggling to dampen down her involuntary jiggling, and for just an instant, Tim thought she was about to fondle herself. "I never used to be anything like.... like this before Simone." "My, you are a pretty boy!" Pretty? Tim sat awkwardly in the damned hospital smock, buns wriggling on the cold metal seat as the leather coated brunette circled, heels clacking on the clean white tiling. "The EKG and blood workup looks fine. You don't exercise?" Tim blushed. It was always hard for him to keep meat on his five foot five inch frame and when he didn't work out, his metabolism burnt off calories faster than a dog eats supper. "Uh.... I used to. I will again, but the job....." "Ah-huh. You weigh only one twenty five, a good weight if you were a young lady Mr. Mitty but..... In fact, with your eyes, hips and lips.... Hmmmmm." Simone looked up from the clipboard clutched in her long red nails, "Yes, Ashley was right about you. You may be able to help her out of a jam." "Pardon?" Was this woman nuts? He was here for smoking counseling. Help Ashley out? "I, uh.... Well about my smoking?" Simone blinked and leaned in to press her hand along Tim's jaw, running her thumb against his cheekbone. "Nice, you could open envelopes on that edge, and your eyes are so big. Green too." "A family thing. So what about my smoking?" Three weeks later. Daily therapy sessions at Simone's. Tim no longer smoked. No desire. It was Friday. He was recovering from a deep hypnotic trance listening to Simone's voice count him back..... "three, two, one...... wake up Sweetheart." The dress was provocative. Very full skirted over a cloud of petticoats - red polka dots. Rustling satin. Spiked heels, white stockings anchored to red garters that peeked below the flirty skirting. The top wrapped taughtly about quivering C cups that seemed to spill unrestrained into the shiny material. White lace at the neck and cuffs matched the floppy lace red polka dotted bow that held curls back off a face that shone like a finely buffed gem. "How does a whore smell?" Ashley giggled, whipping her long blond curls around. "Uh-uhn. Ohn mae meh smehl lah a whoe," Garbled words ooze around the big ball gag. Terror, big green eyes peer wildly through the fog of red hair.Wrists tug futiley cuffed harshly just above the jiggling skirtings, feet teetering over the sharp heels. "Actually it's a mixture of scents," Simone grinned and passed the crystal bottle to her blond friend. "Here spray her good, then let's dab on some of this." The slim brunette smiled and held the gaze of the terrified captive as she slowly tugged at her own hem, teasing it up over her bare crotch. Still staring at the cringing prisoner, she plucked at the string dangling from her glistening bush, drawing the juicy red/brown cylinder free of the moist canal. "This'll make're riper'n a cat house in August." "Nuhhhhh. Uhhh nuh. Doh do ih uh meh Simoh. Ohhhh Pleee! Nuh. Nah Tha....." Even through the gagging Tim recognized that his voice seemed high pitched like the chipmunk squeak actresses use as a short cut to make you think 'dumb broad' On a leash! A @#$%$@ leash! Swishing and clacking on these pointed toes. The things are calf killers. This corset's cutting through. OOOUUUCH! Shish, swish, wish, clickety, jingle. This red bimbo hair's too long. Blinding. And the earrings are longer. If they get caught in anything a lobe'll go. It's a dangerous getup. Too risky. Broadcasting on every sensory channel. Look hot, sound hot, feel hot and smell like a slut in heat. A trip on the heels and wham! Double bound wrists. First the cuffs, then through the belt in back. Worse, the opera gloves are too tight anyway. Hardly any finger movement. Double risky. It's too sexy. It's yowling for a raping. Glimmering heat. Dress and shoes are too red and shiny. Legs and gloves are too white and shiny. Lips are too bright and shiny. Too swollen. Too wet. Too dangerous. And on a #@$%^&%$%# leash! Don't want sex. Not like this. Not with him. He's too tall. He's too strong. He's too handsome. He's too manly. Hell. Anything equipped like that is too lethal. Got to resist this. How to resist? With jiggling C cups flashing in front and a cloud of short pettis framing each step, this is too inviting. Gag's gone but what words'll stop a screaming jet? And this getup'll get a jet up in any stud's pants. Every little move is painted bigger by the dress and legs and hair and paint and smell..... Words? And this voice. After the pill, it squeaks like a cartoon chipmunk. Cartoon chipmunks don't stop a lot of screaming jets. If only the hands could pull loose. The cuffs are locked. And the belt's tied in a double knot and floppy bow around front. Pulling at the mess just sets hips and skirts a dancing. Oh, how the lights flash off the shiny satin. No. Got to say no so it sounds like...... no. This voice makes it sound like yes. This dress, the hair, the dangles and heels. They all make it sound like yes. Does the word no come out of lips this swollen? Does it come from under tits this full? Look how the nipples strain at the fabric. How they poke to be seen. Don't want him to lead into the bedroom. Got to pull back, but the heels are too high. Can't fall. Not the bedroom! In spite of the struggles, maybe because of them, it's a vision of yes....... If even a maybe will do. But a tiny squealing, wait..... don't..... no.... please...... Gets interpreted through the folds and scents, the curls and rhinestones, the satins and legs to..... now.... yes.... please..... He's pulling the leash. Snapping forward and clacking along, the bed's looming bigger. They want this to happen. A man's loving. One who doesn't know. One who'll be surprised when he unwraps the package. Unpredictable. Maybe loving, maybe violent. The bet's that he'll be so horny, that the packaging will be so effective, that his rush won't be stoppable. That he'll take what he finds and damn the indignities. But if he won't? If he's enraged? If the man loathes men? Will he mug the redheaded slut? Will he do unspeakable things? Or Both? Simone wants this to happen. She dressed up the redhead. Buckled the wrists. Fluffed up the package to full power and handed off the leash to the guy Ashley brought home. Now's they're sitting in the living room, smirking at the couple as he jerks at the leash and the fluffy redhaired bimbo squeaks and pulls and peers in horror first to the girls in the living room then at the bed looming closer. Shaking the mass of curls and skirting, trying to dig in the towering spikes, pulling against his great hand as he's reached the covers and pulls at the pillows. ______________ Want to see some new free illustrated romantic adventures by Timothy Reisling Betticut? Why not.... Check out Elayne Beneford's nifty site at www.geocities.com/~elayneb and enjoy. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----