Human Resources (Or, How I Learned to Love Office Politics)
Chapter 1

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Reluctant, Mind Control, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, DomSub, FemaleDom, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation,

Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - I was one of the chosen ones - handpicked for the executive suite and groomed for stardom in the business world. Until a colleague showed me how much more I could accomplish with the right mind set.

"Mr. Hawkins? They're ready for you now," said a smiling, perky young secretary as she popped her head into the boardroom waiting area.

A lot of executives dreaded these annual evaluations but, ever the rising superstar, I relished them.

"Thank you," I replied coolly, as I stood up and set the copy of Forbes I was leafing through back on the coffee table. After smoothing my tie, I picked up my leather portfolio, stepped confidently past the pretty young thing holding the door for me and entered the boardroom.

Richard "Dick" Wallace, my boss and the Chairman and CEO of Megacorp, sat at the head of the conference table. "Hawkins," he said brusquely, as I approached. "Good afternoon." Wallace would be the Head Rich White Guy In Charge in just about any room - he knew it, and he wasn't afraid to show it, either.

With a perfunctory wave of his hand, he introduced his two colleagues: "You know Stan Grossman, from Sales. And Bill Diehl, my COO."

With a polite but curt smile, I nodded and replied "Sure, hello again Stan. Bill." I shook hands quickly with these "beta dog" Rich White Guys — whose ranks I was working like hell to join — before taking the last unoccupied chair.

"So, Hawkins," said Wallace tersely, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me about your year." Megacorp was one of the largest, most successful, and most secretive of the "beltway bandits" in the D.C. area, raking in several billion dollars a year in government, military, and intelligence community contracts. An annual review at Megacorp was not the place for small talk.

I got right to the point. "In short, very successful, sir. Revenues steady, and costs down, significantly. Introduced two new product lines and--"

"Terminated four others," interrupted Grossman, the fat salesman.

I paused a moment for effect and then crisply replied, "Yes, Stan, that's correct," staring daggers back at him. "As you and I have beaten to death during countless discussions in this very boardroom, I made an affirmative decision to exit some maturing markets earlier than originally planned in order to focus on newer opportunities that offer better growth potential. I believe the results speak for themselves."

"They do indeed speak for themselves, Johnnie," he said, using the diminutive for effect, since last names were customary at Megacorp. "I was doing a nice, brisk business in those markets, and now we've let our competition--"

"Start directing way too much of their time and attention towards a handful of waning, legacy market segments that provide next-to-no profit margins and extremely rigid cost structures," I said, interrupting back. Grossman and I had been going at each other hammer and tong over strategy all year, and he had grown increasingly hostile as my approach, while not yet inarguably successful, had also failed to crater the way Grossman loudly and frequently "guaranteed" it would.

"Yes, I see," continued Wallace, immediately cutting off debate before Grossman could respond. This was good. I was winning, and I knew it. Better yet, Grossman knew it, too.

Wallace's next question wasn't what I was prepared for, though. "Speaking of maturing, Hawkins ... You're what, now? Thirty nine?"

"Thirty eight," I replied out loud. And what the fuck does that have to do with anything, I thought, but didn't ask.

"Your marriage ended this year, did it not?"

I couldn't help but pause for a moment at this one — not really to register my irritation at this new line of questioning but because I really was stunned to be asked these questions. I'd been through more than a dozen of these annual reviews and had never been asked such personal questions.

"Well, yes, sir, that's correct," I said in response, pausing again afterwards to try to end the point.

When Wallace just stared back at me, I realized I needed to push back a bit. "Sir, I think it's clear that any issues in my personal life have had no impact on my performance here, and that--"

"No, Hawkins, I know — look, the point I'm making is that you're actually still quite a young man. And don't tell me you don't enjoy being single again!!" he said with a conspiratorial frat-boy laugh and a quick glance over to Grossman and Diehl, who dutifully laughed along.

And yeah, I admit I never had trouble attracting women — either before, during, or after my marriage — but the truth was I really wasn't enjoying being single. My dick had gotten me into too much trouble over the years, especially recently. Once it cost me what could and should have been a very happy marriage, I made a firm resolution to keep it in my pants for a while, and so far I was actually doing so.

"Well, I appreciate that sir," I replied, hoping this tangent into my personal life had ended, "but the real issue here is--"

"The real issue, Hawkins," said Wallace, interrupting again, "is whether you're really sure you want to be an executive here."

Still a little shocked at the direction of the discussion, I paused for a second to regain my poise enough to start punching back in earnest. "Sir, I assure you, I take a back seat to no one in my dedication to excellence and willingness to sacrifice for the team. There's not another executive here who has contributed more to the success of --"

"Yes, yes, yes, Johnnie, I know all that..." Wallace's tone was growing a little exasperated, and the way that nickname popped in there was not a good sign. "But I don't think you follow me. I didn't ask whether you're capable of being an executive here, I asked whether that's what you really want."

"And the reason I ask," he continued, pre-empting my next attempt to respond, "is that it really doesn't seem to be making you very happy."

The hard kernel of truth behind that one stopped me cold.

"You've certainly not been unsuccessful here, Hawkins, and I've never doubted that you've got potential, but here's the bottom line: You're not getting promoted to Executive Vice President this year." This time, my shock lasted only seconds before being replaced by white-hot indignation.

"Now don't misunderstand," continued Wallace, "you did have a reasonably good year, but not a great year - and as you know we set the bar for EVPs very high here at Megacorp."

"Sir," I replied, doing my damnedest not to shake with fury, "I took over the Bio-Electronics division at a literally critical juncture. On the path it was headed, its debt burden and failure to leverage its R&D could've dragged down the entire company. Barely over a year later it's poised to be the finest turnaround story in Megacorp's history. There's not another VP in the business who could have accomplished what I did with that group, and over the next five years I'm projecting revenue and market share to rise by--"

Still unimpressed, Wallace cut me off again. "Hawkins, Hawkins, please ... You keep reciting all that B-school mumbojumbo to me as if that should be the basis for my personnel decisions. Obviously I know about all the history and the figures, but it's all beside the point. Your results aren't unacceptable, but think about this: if over the next five years our Bio-E business grows by leaps and bounds while its top executive develops a substance abuse problem and clinical depression, Megacorp on the whole really isn't much better off, is it?"

Again, I just sat in silence.

"Look, Hawkins, let me make a suggestion." Ever the helpful boss, Dick Wallace liked to make these "suggestions" to his colleagues and employees. And when he did, he merely expected them to hear him out, consider his "suggestion" honestly and candidly, and then follow it in every jot and stroke as they would the word of God.

"You know Vivian de Beers, right? She's got our HR department doing some very interesting work aimed at helping people identify their core strengths and weaknesses, and helping them use that information to guide their career paths."

I just stared back for a moment, still ricocheting between shock and rage at the news that I would not be promoted. "Sir, with all due respect, if you're suggesting I'm being passed over so that I can go 'find myself' through some horseshit HR program--"

"What I'm suggesting," replied Wallace, leaning in and lowering his voice the way he did when he wanted to terrify an underling, "is that you take advantage of the means at your disposal to make sure that you're being put to your highest and best use here at Megacorp. Do I make myself clear?"

After just enough silence to go right to the edge of insolence, I replied, "Yes sir. Quite clear."

Wallace nodded and smirked just quick enough to twist the knife. "Good," he said. "There it is, I think. Stan? Bill, anything? No? Very well then, thanks, Hawkins, I think we're done."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the look of smug satisfaction on Grossman's fat face even as I bee-lined it from my chair to the door — I managed to avoid direct eye contact with him, but if I hadn't I very likely might have torn out his throat on the spot.

Despite the shock I'd just endured in the boardroom, I managed to smile pleasantly and avoid throwing up or punching anyone as I left the executive suite. Instead of returning straight back to my office, however, I took the internal stairs down a level to go see an old girlfriend.

Vivian De Beers was the head of Human Resources for Megacorp, and she and I had known each other for a little more than ten years. We even dated for a little more than a year or so.

Well, that's not exactly right. We probably "dated" for about a month or two, tops, then kept "seeing each other" one weekend at a time, and eventually got into a nice routine of fucking each other five or six times a month, one booty-call at a time.

Nice routine for me, at least. To be honest, I knew Viv was a little disappointed that we didn't have more of a real relationship, but I also knew that the sex was so good — for both of us — that she was happy enough to take what she could get.

Vivian was an animal in bed, and she was all woman: ripe and fleshy and curvy. She stayed in shape, to be sure, it's just that she had serious tits, and hips, and a beautiful firm, wide ass. I never really went for the over-aerobicized, ninety pound "hardbodies;" they made for nice enough nice arm candy, but women like Vivian tended to be a hell of lot more fun.

In other words, I guess I prefer Bridget Jones to Renee Zellweger, if you know what I mean - so for me, Vivian was simply a knockout. And horny. She wasn't one to quietly "make love" in the dark under the covers; Vivian loved to fuck, plain and simple.

Out of bed, Vivian had followed a fairly traditional path for businesswomen, taking over Human Resources when the matronly woman who founded the department finally retired after more than thirty years in the job. It wasn't glamorous, nor did it offer any realistic chance of further promotion up the corporate food chain, but it paid well enough and certainly seemed to suit Vivian's personality. She liked helping people find jobs they enjoyed, and she was good at it, which meant she enjoyed working in HR very much.

I, on the other hand, had set my sights on the CEO's office from day one. I was determined to run my own company one day, and although it wasn't technically the same thing, I always expected that running a division like Bio-Electronics for a cutting edge company like MegaCorp at thirty eight would feel like a resounding success.

And it did, to a point, but I soon found that this professional success came at quite a personal cost. A cost which was made particularly clear to me when I came home early from a business trip one night to find my gorgeous young wife bent over the backrest of our living room couch, getting energetically fucked from behind by a nineteen-year-old barista she had met the week before.

The days that followed were filled with lots of shouting and tears, recriminations and harsh words, but remarkably quickly I managed to face one core fact about my marriage: it had ended practically before it began. Between my regular 18 hour days and my damn-near monthly two- or three-week business trips, Lindsey and I had become more like roommates than lovers probably back when we were still planning the wedding. Once shouting stopped we were both ready to admit our marriage was a mistake, and we cooperated on what turned out to be a quick, relatively painless divorce.

Relatively painless, in large part because Viv was really great. She had insisted that I stop the booty calls when I got married, and while we still hadn't rekindled any of the old passions (in fact, the rumor was she had "changed teams" since she ended our fling) she was hugely supportive and great about letting me vent.

Which was exactly what I needed right now — even if we couldn't be fuck-buddies anymore it was great to have her as a regular buddy.

"Hey kiddo," said Vivian sympathetically when I appeared at her door.

"Those fuckers," I replied, as I entered Vivian's office and shut the door behind me. "Let me guess, you already knew?"

"Well, I am the HR director, John. If you were going to get moved up to EVP I would have known about it a week ago."

"Well, fair enough — and look, I don't mean to direct any of this at you, but it's all just such bullshit, you know? It was like Kafka or something, it just kept getting worse and worse. First he tells me I'm not getting promoted and next he tells me to come see you for a dose of some claptrap, New Age, psycho-babble snake oil you're apparently selling down here. No offense, Viv, but please, just for old times sake, cut me one lousy break today. You're not really going to make me sit through this crap, are you?"

[Three days later.]

"It's good of you to give this a chance, John. I know you're kind of ... skeptical about it. Think of it this way: even if it does nothing else for you, it should take your mind off things for a while. Many of the people in the test program find it quite relaxing, even stimulating."

"Viv, look, I admit: I certainly could use some relaxation, given how stressed out I am about that damn evaluation — but that's exactly why, quite frankly, I really don't have time for this. It's like I told you the other day, with Lindsey out of the picture I was counting on the extra money from the promotion to pay for the rest of the house."

My beautiful young trophy wife and I had been right in the middle of renovating a beautiful old Victorian row house when the breakup hit — and although I was adamant about keeping the house, I was counting on the promotion to fund the rest of the work. Without her income and without the promotion, I was fucked.

"Have you thought about getting a roommate?" suggested Vivian. "Matter of fact, there's a simply fetching young woman in our trainee program who needs to find a room to rent, and that basement would be perfect as a rental, wouldn't it? As soon as we're done, I'll email you her info — who knows, it might even be fun to make a new friend and hang around with some younger people." Her smirk left no doubt about what she meant by "hang around with."

Given our history, Vivian knew I was a slave to my dick, but I was always kind of relieved that she was willing to joke around about it. And, as always, her expert appreciation of the female form did nothing to dispel those rumors about switching teams.

"Yeah, great," I answered, "that's exactly what I need — an introduction to the next former Mrs. Hawkins ... And really, Viv, seriously: what possible good could come for me from getting a 'fetching' young, female roommate?" I knew she meant to help, but this had catastrophe written all over it.

"There's only two ways that could end, Viv: either I start fucking a subordinate which, given the way that last evaluation went, is absolutely the last goddamn thing I need for my career right now, or I start sharing my house with some random chick who'll play Justin Timberlake albums until all hours of the night and fill up my house with drunken 20-somethings every other weekend. And I wouldn't even get to fuck her!"

"OK, Johnnie? First of all, sure: points for knowing who Justin Timberlake is. But I'm afraid they're not called 'albums' anymore, OK? And second of all," Vivian said, doing her best to interrupt my stewing, "Candi is really not the blast-music-all-night and party-all-weekend kind of girl. In fact, I've never seen a harder worker in my life. She's sweet and cute and all, but as much time as she spends in my lab, you'll probably never even see her around the house. And renting that basement apartment to her could really help with those renovation bills."

No zippy comeback after that one, because in simple point of fact Viv was absolutely right.

"Anyway," she said, "since you're in such a great big rush, let's go ahead and get you hooked up." Vivian helped me sit back on the reclining couch and finished attaching a multitude of electrodes to my wrists, chest, and forehead.

Once the wires were all in place she reached up for a large, elaborately wired dome which looked like a half-assed amateur Star Trek version of an old beauty salon hair dryer. She pulled it down over my head and said, "There's a very interesting technical background to all this, but I know you're too important for all that so I'll just give you the short version. The basic idea here is a lot like a polygraph - we present you with a bunch of varying stimuli and then we record your conscious and unconscious responses."

"It's going to ask me questions?"

"Kind of, but it's not really like Q&A, it's a little more like free association. You'll get the hang of it quickly - just pay attention to the sights and sounds and you'll find that it's actually quite easy to tell when the system is looking for a response."

"And when it does, I just blurt out whatever I'm thinking?"

"Not really, it's a little more involved than that. The system doesn't just bounce you around through random thoughts, it basically takes you through a series of opportunities to make choices and distinctions, express preferences, identify similarities. The science behind it is really quite fascinat--"

"So in other words, Viv," I said, interrupting rather rudely, "exactly like I said, I just blurt out whatever I'm thinking?"

Vivian rolled her eyes with an amused chuckle. "Fine, asshole, have it your way. Yes, you just blurt out whatever you're thinking. Happy now? Once you get started, though, I still think you'll see exactly what I mean. In fact, if you weren't so determined to be such a sourpuss about it, you might even enjoy it."

"All right, Vivian, whatever. Let's get this over with..." With that, I sat back in the chair and waited while Vivian went into the control room to start the program.

As the sound came up and lights inside the dome started flashing before my eyes, I started responding. "Yellow. Blue. Purple. Green."

Four items into the program, I raised the front of the dome and peeked out from underneath it. "Hey Viv? Quick question?" I asked the one-way mirror that led to the control room. "You are fucking kidding me with this, right? Please tell me that you realize this is pure bullshit?"

"No," replied my friend acidly over the intercom, "I certainly do not realize that, now shut up and start over."

"How long is this gonna take?"

"About a half-hour, if you pipe down and play along, or the rest of the your soon-to-be-brief career at Megacorp if I have to go back upstairs to Dick Wallace and tell him you refused to cooperate."

"All right, all right. But you owe me big time just for putting up with this. What a fucking crock..." I said, as I sat back in the chair with a melodramatic sigh and pulled the headpiece back down over my head. After a short pause the program started over.

"Yellow. Blue. Red. Yellow. Red. Green..."

A little over a half-hour later, Vivian lifted the dome and spoke gently to me. "John? Johnnie? Hel-looo? Hi there. All done."

"Hhm? Whnna?" I gave a big stretch and blinked rapidly as I roused myself. "M'm done?"

"Yep. All done, for now. Not so bad, was it?"

"No," I replied groggily, trying to pull my wits back together, "wasn't too bad. Naw, it was ... just fine, really not bad at all..."

"Great!" Viv replied happily. "Next, we're going to take these baselines and develop a more involved heuristic for your next session, incorporating all the biometrics and the--"

"Right, so, like I said Viv," I repeated, finishing my stretch, "I'm done? Meaning, I can go?" Despite my previously foul mood, this time I tried to delivered this jab with a happy sparkle in my voice and a wink for my friend.

"Yes, asshole, you may go — but only after you give me an honest answer to one question: you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Now I sat up and smiled broadly.

"Actually Viv, I'm not sure whether 'enjoyed' is the right word - I don't really remember all that much of it - but I do admit it wasn't at all what I thought it would be. I know I really got into it, the whole 'call and response' thing kind of got to be like playing tennis or something, like being in the zone. I felt so focused and relaxed. And now I feel ... I dunno, rested, I guess, but also really jazzed or something, like I could take on the world. I'll be honest, Vivian, bullshit or not, I'll take as much of this as you can give me."

"Well, that's great," she replied. "I'd say I told you so, but you already know that, don't you," she added with a smile

"I know, and Viv," I continued, "I'm sorry I was so spiteful earlier, you were really kind to have let me vent like th--"

"Apology accepted, Hawkins, enough said. Same time next week."

"Thanks Viv, you're the best. See you then."

It was hard to hear the knock on the door over the pouring rain, but once I was sure about what I heard I ran over quickly to answer it.

"Hi..." said the young woman sheepishly standing on the porch, holding a few ratty sheets of newspaper over her head in a more or less futile attempt to keep the rain off her. It must have seemed worth a try, and I guess it could have kept a couple drops off her head, but it didn't help much - she was drenched.

"Hi - Candi?" Candi. Good heavens, who is ever going to take this poor girl seriously with a name like Candi...

"Yes, hi, you must be Mr. Hawkins--"

"Yes, yes, I am - but please, call me John. And here, come on in, quickly. Gosh, you poor kid, it's just pouring out there isn't it?" I asked as pleasantly as I could. Sure I felt sorry for her and all, but how sorry can you be for someone who doesn't have the sense to take an umbrella out in the rain?

"I know," she said, "the weather has just been so nice lately, I never expected it would rain." Really, I thought, and all those ink-black storm clouds swirling around all morning didn't tip you off? "And now I'm dripping all over your floor..." she added apologetically.

"Oh, don't worry about that," I said, not meaning a word of it. Refinishing those hardwood floors cost a pretty penny and I loved them. "Here," I added, "wait right here for a sec and I'll get you a towel."

Returning as fast as I could (my floors!), I handed a fresh bath towel to the young woman, who smiled gratefully. She held the towel tightly against her body as she used a corner to dry her face, which gave my expert roving eye a chance to size her up without being too obvious about it.

She wasn't unattractive, by any measure, but frankly she didn't knock me out either. She was tall and lean, for one thing — nearly 5'10", by my guess — and she was noticeably small up top. No more than a full A cup, or maybe a small B. She had enough muscle in her hips and thighs to give her body a nice enough shape, but my first impression was relief: especially with her long, straight hair all matted and stringy from the rain, I figured I should have no trouble keeping my hands off her.

"So, Candi," I said, trying to break the ice, "Vivian tells me you're interning in her department at MegaCorp."

"Oh, yes, I am," she replied rather meekly. Then she just stared at me, stone silent.

"And how do you like that so far," I replied.

"It's ok I guess." And then nuthin' ... Monks were more conversational than this chick.

We continued like that for a couple awkward minutes — mostly because I wanted to let her dry off and warm up before showing her the house. In short, I could see exactly what Vivian was referring to earlier — Candi wasn't hostile or dimwitted or anything, it was just that like a lot of engineers, she had the personality of a billiard ball. Which, I figured, made her a perfect person to rent a room to.

"Well. OK then, let me show you around," I said, leading her back into the house. "The rooms on the main level here are all common areas we can share, so you're welcome to use this kitchen if you want and hang out over here in the living room. Flat screen TV, DVD player, wireless internet, all the standard stuff. The rental apartment is right downstairs, and it's all brand new." I left out the part about how it hadn't been paid for yet...

The nickel tour of the basement didn't take long at all — it was really just one big room that Lindsay and I had laid out like a studio apartment.

"The former owner already wired the basement for 220, so even though the kitchen upstairs is a lot nicer, we installed a couple appliances down here for convenience; there's a hot plate here with a small oven above, and this down here is a small fridge. Bathroom's here in the back, and it's also brand new," I said with all the smarm of a used car salesman.

The tiny little powder room Lindsey and I added during the buildout was at best technically a bathroom. Frankly, airliners have swankier facilities. There's a truly miniscule sink tucked in one corner, with a handheld shower head on a flexible hose that connected next to the faucet. The toilet was almost exactly underneath the sink, so unless you could do your business standing up, you needed to be fairly limber to really make the geometry work. No shower curtain - the entire space was tiled, so basically the whole, tiny little room served as the shower stall.

"Simple and easy to keep clean," I said brightly, just like a pro. I didn't want to be obvious about it, but I did want to move along past the bathroom as fast as I could. It was obviously a weak spot and in business you always wanted to start real negotiations when your opponent was on his weakest turf. As meek as this kid was, I figured I might be able to squeeze a little more rent out of her once I gave her a slow, detailed tour of the sparkling new gourmet kitchen upstairs.

Instead, however, Candi jumped in quickly before I could even get the "bathroom" door closed. "So listen," she said, "about the rent. I only just started the new job and I really don't have much money right now. Is it ok if I pay you the first couple months in arrears?"

Clever girl...

So, over the next few weeks, things started to improve for me both at work and at home. I soon convinced Viv to let me take a training session three times a week, and I was thrilled to feel some of that old confidence and fire-in-the-belly coming back. Vivian's program was really doing a lot for me, and more than just professionally. In fact, as the sessions went on, realized was I coming out of them, well ... aroused. Sexually. I mean, I always woke up from a session with at least a little blood flow, and sometimes nearly a full hard-on.

I never mentioned it to Vivian — kind of awkward to bring that sort of thing up with an old flame — but instead I guessed this must have been what she meant about some people finding the program to be "stimulating." And I took it as proof that I was finally starting to get over losing Lindsey, which was nice.

The basement apartment seemed to work out fine for Candi. Turned out she wasn't just "an engineer," she had a Masters in Electrical Engineering from MIT. In fact, she also had one year in a multidisciplinary PhD program in computer science and bioengineering, with a minor in behavioral psychology. Tops in her class, until she left to come to Megacorp.

The problem was the quite ordinary, even homely girl who moved in those short weeks earlier, turned out to be not just "fetching," as Viv had put it, but in fact was just smoking hot. The weather was warming up, so part of it might have been just losing the heavy winter clothes, but one day she came home with a much shorter hairdo.

The long, stringy mop was gone and was replaced by a short, spiky do that pulled her hair well back off her face. Turned out she really wasn't "plain" at all, she was just simple and natural and flawed in the way that made real live women infinitely more attractive than airbrushed supermodels.

In fact, especially once she started using a little lip gloss and just a touch of eye makeup, she had that simple beauty that has always just stopped my heart. Her bottom teeth were just a little crooked, for example, but especially without her hair hiding her face anymore, she could stare right through you with those striking blue eyes.

And God, what a killer body. I could finally get a good look now that the heavy coats were gone, and soon realized I had misjudged. This girl wasn't bony or flat-chested or emaciated at all, she was just lean and fresh and nubile. And just incredibly sexy.

For instance, one day I came home from work late, and found Candi upstairs in the big kitchen, rooting around in the cabinets. Nothing odd about that — she had gotten me to agree that staples would be included in the rent, clever girl — but it sure was odd to find her up in the common areas wearing nothing at all but a t-shirt and panties.

And not even just a regular t-shirt, but kind of a snug t-shirt that stopped right around the bottom of her tight, lean torso, and was propped out just so by her high, firm, and unmistakably bra-less breasts. Between the way those lovely little titties slipped around inside that flimsy t-shirt, and the way the smooth curves of her hips and ass were lovingly cradled by that snug pair of pink cotton panties, she couldn't have looked hotter if she were stark naked.

If it sounds like I will vividly remember every speck of this image until the day I die, that's because I will.

"Hiya John," she said, somehow oblivious to my leering, "you're home early. Hey, where do you keep the filters? For tea?" she asked, methodically going through cabinets while I greedily drank in the glimpses of ripe asscheek and taut belly she flashed as she stretched up to reach the high cabinets and bent over to look in the low ones. "John? Filters?"

God help me, what a flawless ass...

With an almost physical effort, I finally tore my eyes from the heavenly vision of her thighs and hips and walked them up the rest of her long, lean body as she turned to face me. By the time I was looking her in the face, my dick was ready to rip through my pants. Even I realized how dangerous that line of thinking could get, so I resolved to nip it in the bud.

"Uh, Candi," I said, trying to make this a confrontation, "what do you think you're doing?"

"What? I'm ... making some fresh iced tea, what does it look like I'm--"

"I mean your clothes, Candi. Do you really think it's appropriate to dress like that around the house?"

She paused for just a beat and then quickly came right back at me. "I dunno, John, do you really think it's appropriate leave the A/C off all day when it's fucking 95 degrees outside?"

She had me on that one, I was trying to pinch a few pennies on utilities by leaving the A/C off during the day.

"So I'm sorry if you have a problem with my clo—oh, my God..." she said, clearly disgusted when she noticed the tent pole sticking up at the front of my crotch.

Uh oh.

"Ugh. For crying out loud, John, what are you, twelve years old? Are you gonna 'pop a boner' every time you see a woman in her underwear?" God she got even hotter when she got angry. And each humiliation seemed to send a new jolt of sexheat right down the shaft of my cock. Desperate to ignore the throbbing in my pants, I fumbled to try and regain the upper hand.

"N-no, I'm not-- that's, um, not the p-point, um, Candi, but look - the point is your, um, attire isn't appropriate." My dick sure thought it was appropriate. "It simply isn't appropriate for you to go parading around up here with no pants on."

"Really, John, my 'attire' isn't appropriate? Well, sparking up that tiny little hard-on every time you see your housemate's bod isn't real appropriate, either, is it?" she responded sneeringly, sending another lightning bolt into my dick when she called it "little." Christ, why was this turning me on so much?

"No, Candi, but that's the point - we work at the same company, and especially at Megacorp people get fired in a heartbeat for fucking around like this. Thank god I'm not your direct supervisor, but you're still an inferior employee--"

"HEY, ASSHOLE," she shouted, making my balls tighten up deliciously against the base of my dick, "hold it right there. First of all, from the looks of things the only one interested in 'fucking around like this' is you, Johnnie-boy, and second of all, did you just call me inferior?" she laughed indignantly.

"No, not like that, I just mean legally." God, I was bungling this. "Technically, I'm your superior--"

"You're superior? To me?" she barked. Well, actually yes, I thought but didn't say. Even without the promotion I was still a Senior VP, and she was a damn trainee. Why couldn't I take charge here? And why did I feel like I was about to come in pants every time she chastised me?

"L-look, uh, Candi, I'm not trying to be uptight about this. When you're downstairs in the apartment, you should feel free to wear anything you want, of course. But when you're up here in the common areas I expect you to dress appropriately. Is that clear?"

She paused and took another look at the obvious erection in my pants, adding another disgusted sneer when she saw the growing wet spot at the top of the lump. "Oh, it sure is Johnnie, sure is. Quite clear," she said, patting me on the chest as she walked out of the kitchen. "You just better get out of the common areas yourself, big boy. Looks like that thing's getting ready to boil over..."

I managed to keep my hands off myself until she had left the kitchen, but as soon as she turned the corner I ripped open my fly with one hand and frantically grabbed for a napkin with the other. Two hard strokes was all it took, and my knees swayed wildly as a huge load of heavy, pearly cum came blasting out of the tip of my cock. I barely even had time to get the napkin in place.

Four, five, six convulsions later, my orgasm finally started receding, and my wits started returning. It was a hellacious cum, easily my biggest since Lindsey, and it left me slumped over against the countertop a little.

As I started to clean myself up, I slowly realized how loud I must have been as I came. My zipper, the crumpling napkin, my heavy sighs as that huge load of cum rushed out like lava from an erupting volcano...

I wondered whether Candi might have overheard, until I was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of feet walking down the stairs to the basement. She must have paused after leaving the kitchen, and waited on the landing without going down to the basement. She was three feet away the whole time - she had to have heard everything!

The humiliation brought a hot, red flush of embarrassment to my face and neck, and it brought one last shudder to my balls and a few more drops of cum to the tip of my dick.

Oh, shit this was going to be a problem...

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