{"id":7233,"date":"2018-06-01T10:36:13","date_gmt":"2018-06-01T09:36:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.deolububble.com\/general\/ndb\/?p=7233"},"modified":"2018-06-01T11:11:01","modified_gmt":"2018-06-01T10:11:01","slug":"lipglossmaffia-office-adventures-zainab-boss","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.deolububble.com\/general\/ndb\/lipglossmaffia-office-adventures-zainab-boss\/","title":{"rendered":"LipGlossMaffia: Office Adventures of Zainab & Her Boss (18+)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Written by LipGlossMaffia<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

I groaned softly as I settled back at my desk, reaching down surreptitiously to massage one of my calves.<\/p>\n

\u201cToo many trips to the copier again, Zainab?\u201d<\/em>\u00a0My boss asked me sympathetically on her way by with her third cup of coffee.<\/p>\n

I heaved a deep sigh, starting to respond, but she was already back through her office door, letting it swing mostly closed as she settled in, sipping her coffee. I shook my head and shifted my massage to my sore feet. It certainly wasn\u2019t my fault they installed the copier on the far side of the floor \u2013 and it wasn\u2019t Cleo\u2019s fault that she needed things copied a hundred times a day.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d been Cleo\u2019s assistant for not quite a year, on my fifth attempt at finding a steady job in the field. My first boss had been a kindly older man, but his second heart attack had forced his retirement, and there\u2019d been no other job open for me that wouldn\u2019t have required more sucking up than I was willing to do. My second boss had tried to convince me that assistants always worked until 3 a.m. Don\u2019t get me wrong \u2013 I don\u2019t mind long hours. I don\u2019t have a life for them to interfere with anyway. Still, if I wanted to work eighteen hour days seven days a week, I could have gone to law school \u2013 and then I wouldn\u2019t be holding down assistant jobs for crap pay and no benefits. The third and fourth jobs\u2026well, the less said about those, the better.<\/p>\n

Then I had come to Briggs and Associates, a tiny law firm that consisted of Cleo Briggs and her partner, the elderly man whose practice she had taken over. He was near retirement, but apparently didn\u2019t like his wife all that much \u2013 so a young, ambitious lawyer who could take over his practice while not making him work too hard fit him like a glove.<\/p>\n

Cleo also had two paralegals who worked for her, but I rarely saw them much. They worked on another floor of the office building where the law firm had its offices, and we shared them with two other such firms, so I basically only knew them as names on interoffice mail envelopes.<\/p>\n

Cleo Briggs had made a reputation for herself as a trial lawyer in her late twenties \u2013 now in her late thirties, she practiced mostly as a trial consultant to larger firms. She still cut quite an imposing figure on the rare occasions she actually went to a trial, though \u2013 tall, fit, caramel skinned, long legs, cold brown eyes \u2013 she was the very image of a ruthless, bloodsucking lawyer.<\/p>\n

I thought she was actually a pretty nice woman, like myself \u2013 quiet and private about herself, but always composed, with a ready smile. She was also one of the few lawyers I\u2019d met that didn\u2019t treat their assistants like slaves \u2013 she wasn\u2019t one of those fruity saccharine types either. When she asked you to call her Cleo, it wasn\u2019t patronizing. When she asked you to get coffee for her, it was because she couldn\u2019t get it herself at the moment, being stuck on a conference call or coming in a bit late and needing to rush straight to a meeting.<\/p>\n

Of course, by this point in my career with her, I\u2019d barely gotten up the courage to call her anything at all. I\u2019m what you\u2019d call the shy type. Very petite from head to toe, short hair, big black eyes, and a body that I worked hard on but seemed capable of attracting attention only from married men a quarter-century older than me. The fact that I hadn\u2019t been on a date with a boy since university didn\u2019t help with that at all. I couldn\u2019t even take advantage of it, for crying out loud \u2013 I\u2019ve known I was gay since I was sixteen when I realized that my masturbatory fantasies hadn\u2019t involved a boy in quite some time and weren\u2019t likely to any time soon. It hadn\u2019t taken very many dates with women to seal things more or less in stone for me. Since Nigeria imposed the gay ban, it\u2019s been hard to find dates. Sigh.<\/p>\n

Cleo, on the other hand, was divorced, though I knew little about her life in that respect. I\u2019d heard something about a law professor, but she\u2019d been divorced for years, and certainly didn\u2019t talk about her love life with me. She was one of those people who you\u2019d finish telling your life story to and then realize she hasn\u2019t said a thing about herself.<\/p>\n

So far, my time working for her had consisted entirely of variations on the exchange I just mentioned, though \u2013 basic pleasantries, small talk, and the like. We\u2019d had a couple of very pleasant conversations over coffee and doughnuts, and she took me out to dinner a few times with the rest of the firm to celebrate a particularly big account, so I hesitantly considered us friends \u2013 or at least friendly co-workers.<\/p>\n

\u201cZainab?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I looked up immediately when she called my name and got up \u2013 wincing again at the ache in my feet and ankles \u2013 to see what Cleo wanted.<\/p>\n

She looked up, her Bluetooth phone at her ear and her desk covered with paper.\u00a0\u201cZainab,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0she said, muting her phone again,\u00a0\u201cI can\u2019t find those contract copies they sent over last week.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I nodded.\u00a0\u201cThey\u2019re filed, I\u2019ll get them.\u201d<\/em>\u00a0I stepped to the corner of her office where her master files were kept, quickly rifling through a couple of drawers. This wasn\u2019t unusual \u2013 Cleo was a very good lawyer, but she preferred to do everything electronically \u2013 by email or scan. Paper documents just got in her way, and she had no patience for them. So I kept the files myself so that she didn\u2019t have to worry about keeping track of documents she hated dealing with anyway.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s funny, looking back \u2013 we\u2019d never actually discussed that, but I\u2019d just sort of done it that way without thinking, and she\u2019d never questioned it. In hindsight, that probably should have told me something.<\/p>\n

I pulled the file she was looking for, slipping it onto the desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0Cleo was saying into the phone,\u00a0\u201cI\u2019ve got them right here.\u201d<\/em>\u00a0She gave me a grateful look.\u00a0\u201cYes, you were saying \u2013 about the land agreements?\u201d<\/em>\u00a0She glanced up at me, and I nodded, flipping the file open and paging to the document she needed. Another thing I did without ever having been asked.<\/p>\n

I stayed there for the rest of the call, flipping to this page or that as I tried to follow half a conversation \u2013 I\u2019d gotten pretty good at it. Finally, Cleo disconnected the call and rolled her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cIdiot,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0she muttered. She shook her head, looking at the large crystal clock on her desk.\u00a0\u201cI\u2019ve got a meeting in just a few minutes \u2013 make sure I\u2019m not disturbed, okay?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cNo problem,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0I assured her, re-closing the file and returning it to its drawer, slipping out of the office and closing the door behind me.<\/p>\n

This was also common. A few times a week, clients \u2013 or prospective clients \u2013 would come by. Cleo\u2019s practice depended on these meetings \u2013 basically, they were sales pitches. Thus, especially after a call like the one she\u2019d just finished, talking to some annoying mouthpiece somewhere, she\u2019d take a few minutes to relax and get herself together before the meeting, so that she could go in and blow their socks off with the Cleo legal machine. In other words, to make herself look so frighteningly competent and ruthless that the clients just wouldn\u2019t be able to imagine winning without her \u2013 and more importantly, unable to imagine losing with her.<\/p>\n

Believe me, it worked \u2013 I\u2019d sat in on a few of these meetings. I wouldn\u2019t be surprised if quite a few of her clients didn\u2019t hire her just to make absolutely sure their opponents couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

I went back to my desk, sinking gratefully back down into my chair \u2013 a large, comfortable, swiveling and tilting thing. Cleo spared no expense on the office furniture, something I appreciated greatly after years of being the assistant in the \u201cergonomic\u201d chair that made me feel like I was ninety years old when I went home at the end of the day.<\/p>\n

These quiet times that Cleo spent before meetings were private \u2013 I\u2019d always stop calls going to her phone, and make anyone who showed up to see her wait. Her office had no windows, not even in the door, and she never talked about it, so I never knew what she did to compose herself for a meeting.<\/p>\n

No doubt, had I thought about it, I might have guessed. One of my friends from university became a surgeon \u2013 according to him, it\u2019s much more common than most people think. Cleo did the same thing that any number of surgeons, pilots, athletes, performers, and other high-stress professionals do to relax when they really need to be steady and relaxed \u2013 she got herself off. The surge of endorphins and other positive mood-affecting things that orgasm creates are more effective for calm and focus than just about any man-made drug could ever be \u2013 and cheaper, too.<\/p>\n

So, this particular day is the day that the inevitable finally happened. A faulty latch on her office door, of all things, changed my life. I heard a slight click and saw her door inch open, as happens with latches that don\u2019t quite fit right anymore. My desk sits just outside her door in our little corner of the floor, so I saw it immediately. Without thinking, I got up to close the door again, and, quite by accident \u2013 I swear \u2013 glanced in through the two-inch-wide crack of open doorway.<\/p>\n

My composed, oh-so-private boss had her chair swiveled sideways and leaned back, one of her long legs up on the desk, and her hand under her skirt. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and her lips slightly parted. If it hadn\u2019t been for the visible movement of her hand between her legs \u2013 and the death grip her other hand had on the arm of her chair \u2013 I might have thought she was asleep.<\/p>\n

Now, before anyone judges me prematurely, I did exactly what any good assistant would do. I set a world record for the slowest, quietest closing of a door in the history of mankind, and crept back to my desk, where I sat perfectly still, waiting to see if I woke up. If it hadn\u2019t been for my eyes being open wide enough to actually roll out of my head if I\u2019d so much as sneezed, no one walking by would think anything odd had just happened.<\/p>\n

Two minutes later, Cleo left her office and went to the meeting \u2013 head to toe a calm, confident lawyer. Fortunately for me, she didn\u2019t look at me as she went \u2013 I hadn\u2019t managed to get my eyes back to their normal size yet. After a lot of thought, I realized nothing was changed. She obviously hadn\u2019t seen me, and nobody else had to know. I could pretend it hadn\u2019t happened. All right, so I was na\u00efve.<\/p>\n

Days, when Cleo had meetings, took on a whole different perspective for me. She\u2019d close her door for her private time a little before that day\u2019s meeting, and I\u2019d suddenly find myself totally incapable of concentrating on anything. I carefully kept from thinking about what she was doing \u2013 if I thought about it, I pictured it, and that certainly didn\u2019t help.<\/p>\n

For the most part, it wasn\u2019t even that I was aroused by the whole idea \u2013 mostly, I was confused. I\u2019d certainly never felt any particular attraction for Cleo. I thought she was gorgeous, of course, but given her love for the law and her general private attitude \u2013 and her being my boss \u2013 I\u2019d never looked at her through that particular lens. Slowly, over the weeks that followed, I found ways to excuse thinking about it. I mean, like any single girl, I needed my relaxation too, and since I hadn\u2019t had a relationship in a couple of years I can certainly be forgiven if my mind happened to fix on the only sex-related thing to happen to me in a while. If what I saw happened to pop into my head when I was taking care of myself \u2013 usually near the end \u2013 that\u2019s only natural, since my brain had to be seeking any clear image to focus on. This made perfect sense to me, and I resolved not to feel bad about it.<\/p>\n

I realized I was in trouble about two months after my accidental spying, when I realized that I had been sitting at my desk, waiting for Cleo to come out for a meeting, and had been contemplating ways I might tamper with the door handle to get it to pop open again. I stared at it, willing the door to slip open, and give me just one more glimpse. I told myself that I just needed to see it once more, and that would satisfy the curiosity that had been raging in me.<\/p>\n

Finally, after Cleo had left for a meeting one day, I went into her office to file some things and caught sight of something light-colored under her desk. Of course, thinking like the idiot I was that there were some papers that had slipped off the desk, I knelt down to get them \u2013 and found myself holding a pair of lacy white panties. Even that might not have been enough to doom me \u2013 but then a fragrance caught my nose. A fragrance I had not experienced in far, far too long. I could smell Cleo on those panties, and that sensory addition to the image in my head sent a quiver through my breast \u2013 and parts beyond \u2013 that I hadn\u2019t felt in a long, long, time.<\/p>\n

The panties were halfway into my pocket before I realized that Cleo would probably look for them later. I replaced them under the desk, slunk back out to my own desk, and wondered how long it would take to get the delicious, softly musky-sweet smell of her out of my nose. That night, I cooked the spiciest noodles and breathed so deep I half-wondered if I were trying to actually scour my sinuses completely down to the bone. After that, I tried to erase the whole thing from my mind \u2013 and might have been able to, if not for my upstairs neighbors. Newlywed couples are the worst.<\/p>\n

One day, Cleo had a meeting scheduled with a huge client \u2013 a major international firm, the sort that could be a cash cow for our little firm for years, if we made the right first impression and nailed the first job they gave us. Cleo had been stressing the meeting for two weeks \u2013 she\u2019d been as short-tempered as I\u2019d ever seen her. Her emails to the paralegals got more and more demanding and frustrated, and she wasn\u2019t talking to anyone. To top it all off, on the day of the meeting where we expected to be hired \u2013 or not \u2013 the offices above ours were remodeling their offices. Saws, drills, hammers \u2013 you name it.<\/p>\n

I was sitting at my desk. The meeting was in five minutes. Cleo hadn\u2019t come out of her office, and I was worried. I hadn\u2019t put two and two together, or anything \u2013 don\u2019t worry, nowhere in this story is anyone going to accuse me of being terribly perceptive \u2013 but I thought that maybe she had fallen asleep\u2026afterwards. That\u2019s happened to me several times, so I know how easy it is to drift off after a well-needed orgasm.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll never know what I hoped, subconsciously, might be going on, but before I could think, I was up, and knocked lightly on her office door. There was no answer.<\/p>\n

I knocked again, slightly harder \u2013 still no answer.<\/p>\n

So, yes, thinking that I could explain it away if I caught her asleep with her hand up her skirt \u2013 or die of embarrassment, whichever \u2013 I opened the door.<\/p>\n

Cleo wasn\u2019t asleep. Fortunately for me, she had her eyes closed, and she wasn\u2019t listening for the door to open. She was leaned back in her chair, her leg on the desk like before, her hand working furiously. Her head was back, her eyes closed \u2013 but her expression wasn\u2019t the dreamy look of a woman who has just had an orgasm, or even the straining look of a woman who\u2019s very close to one. It was the frustrated, desperate look of a woman who simply cannot quite get there.<\/p>\n

I stared at her, thoughts I\u2019ll never remember racing through my head \u2013 and then the power saw on the floor above screamed again, and she actually groaned in frustration, shaking her head. I realized the problem immediately, having been there many times myself, and my mind slammed into one of those walls that we are all sometimes presented with in our lives.<\/p>\n

I had two choices, and just two. If I did the ethical, professional thing and left her alone, I kept my job safe \u2013 but we risked losing a huge account, the kind of blow to a reputation from which lawyers sometimes don\u2019t recover. Nobody wants to hire the consultant that the big boys didn\u2019t think was good enough. If Cleo went into that meeting stressed, tired, angry \u2013 and now sexually frustrated \u2013 and tried to impress a dozen or so veteran male lawyers\u2026<\/p>\n

One choice was good for me. One might be good for her. Again, it was probably one of those hints that I chose the one that was good for her and potentially disastrous for me, but\u2026oh well. My brain, I fully admit, was turned off. Cleo was the best boss I had ever had, and I dared to think of her as a friend. I had to help her \u2013 and I only knew one way to do that.<\/p>\n

I walked into her office, closed the door very softly, walked around her desk \u2013 and before she even knew I was there, I knelt down, carefully not touching her, leaned in, and just ran my tongue over and between her desperately moving fingers.<\/p>\n

I have no doubt that, had she not been as close as she was, as desperate as she was, or as frustrated as she was, I would have either been kicked in the face, fired, arrested, sued, or all of the above. However, Cleo was way too close for that. Her fingers, like the rest of her, froze at the first touch of my tongue, in shock \u2013 but I didn\u2019t waste any time. The flat of my tongue pushed her fingers aside, stroked over her clit, and started to flutter \u2013 that was all it took. What her fingers could not accomplish, thanks to stress and a power saw, my warm, wet, soft tongue, combined with surprise, managed beautifully.<\/p>\n

Her frozen shock turned directly into rigidity, and her body locked up tight. I felt her spasm, heard a deep gasp, and then my mouth was flooded with the sweet, tangy taste of her. Her breathing stopped for a good fifteen seconds as the spasms continued, and then she went limp with a sigh of suddenly released breath.<\/p>\n

I licked her gently through her orgasm, and stopped when she relaxed. I leaned back on my knees, glancing up at her face \u2013 I\u2019ll never know how I had the courage to do that.<\/p>\n

Her head was still back, but her eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling. Her lips were parted, her breathing still shaky. She slowly raised her head to look at me, and those cold brown eyes were wide with shock, her face still flushed from her orgasm.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t bear to meet that gaze, so I licked my lips clean, stood up \u2013 without touching her \u2013 and walked out of her office, opening the door and closing it behind me as though nothing at all had happened.<\/p>\n

I knew two things for sure at that point \u2013 I would need a new job, and I would never forget what she tasted like.<\/p>\n

Two minutes later, exactly the time at which the meeting was scheduled to start, Cleo opened her door and walked past me without a glance, striding off to the meeting.<\/p>\n

I figured I now had until the meeting ended to pack up my things and run for my life, but I couldn\u2019t make myself move. Belatedly, I thought about the pussy that I had just licked, my mind whirling to process the sensory data since I had not gotten a clear look, as absurd as that seemed. Soft, downy dark hair, trimmed pleasantly close. Velvety soft, warm skin. That sweetly tangy scent that I knew would haunt my dreams. A taste that made me want nothing more in the world than one more lick.<\/p>\n

I sat there dumbly, reliving the experience over and over in my head, wishing I had an office with a door, for a long time, unable to move or think clearly. My thoughts waffled constantly in shock at what I had just done, fear of my career ending, and an arousal that had me throbbing and squirming in my chair.<\/p>\n

She blogs at\u00a0https:\/\/purpleandposh.wordpress.com\/<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n