Chapter 3: After-School Performance Review

The last bell of the day had barely ended before the kids were evacuating the school, followed close on their heels by their teachers who were also anxious to get home to start the weekend. Not Kelly. No, I was on my way to the administrator’s office instead for my so-called “Performance Review”. It was amazing how the hustle and bustle of just a few minutes ago suddenly became an almost deathly silence, broken only by the sound of my heels clicking on the shiny tiled floors.

Despite my slow pace, I eventually reaching his office where I stood in front of the door and took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and slow my heart rate down a few notches. It was useless. Oh dear, I wanted nothing more than anything to turn around and sprint to my car but then I knew I may as well not bother returning. Whether I liked it or not, my continued employment depended on the outcome of this review - in whatever form it might take.

The silence in the hallway was broken when I knocked on the door. Within a few seconds he called out for me to come in. Sheesh, couldn’t he even open the door for me? Stepping in, I saw him behind his desk from where he immediately told me to close the door behind me. Something reminded me of a story I once heard about how Billy Graham never allowed himself to be alone with any woman other than his wife in any closed room - not even a car. His rule applied even to his secretary of over thirty years.

Well, Mr. Eisenberg certainly didn’t live up to those standards. What would the church board say if they knew he was meeting with a woman my age alone in his office with the rest of the school empty?

“Take a seat Miss Wells,” he greeted me, pointing to one of two chairs set out in front of his large wooden desk. It must have been a hundred years old and looked like it could have survived a bombing it was so sturdy.

As for the rest of the office, it looked almost exactly as it had several months ago when he first “interviewed” me. Yep, the same furniture, even the same family photos except now I was a lot more familiar with the people portrayed in them. I saw him and his beautiful wife in one of them and wondered what his foxy wife would say if she knew the real reason why her husband was staying late after school today? I was pretty positive he hadn’t told her who he was meeting with!

Funny, but he seemed unsure how to start so I just sat there with my legs crossed and my hands folded modestly in my lap, waiting patiently for him to take the lead. After all, it WAS his meeting so I was going to let him call the shots.

“So I guess you’ve probably been wondering when we would have this little chat, weren’t you?” he started out softly.

I just shrugged, trying not to express anything that might lead him to believe one thing or another.

“Let’s stop wasting both of our time, OK?” he suddenly blurted out, shifting his weight so as to sit on the edge of his chair while resting on his elbows on the desk in front of him. “We’re both adults. We both know what this is REALLY all about, don’t we?”

If he was looking for me to be the one to initiate anything, or to somehow condone what I knew he was leading up to, well then he was going to be sadly disappointed. There was absolutely no way on earth that I was going to give him anything that he could use later to claim that it was somehow all my idea or that I was complicit with anything. So I just sat there silently, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Fine, if this is how you want it, then I can deal with it,” he huffed.

I could see he was quickly becoming frustrated. It wouldn’t have surprised me to know that he had been fantasizing that somehow I would just waltz in, do a sexy strip-tease for him and finally beg him to fuck me - or something along those lines. Well, it wasn’t going to be that easy for him. Sure, we both knew what I was probably going to eventually have to do, but it didn’t mean I had to help him.

“Stand up,” he demanded in a voice that suddenly turned bitter cold.

Gone was any facade of this being a formal “Performance Review”. It was obvious things were going to happen pretty fast now and I could feel my heart racing. At the same time I also felt my pussy starting to tingle and I couldn’t believe I could be reacting this way. OK, so it HAD been a while since I’d been laid but not THAT long, certainly no reason for my body to respond like this, especially under the circumstances.

Still, as I explained before, had he simply ASKED me from the beginning to have sex with me so he could cheat in his wife, then I probably WOULD be doing the strip tease thing for him on my own right now. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fucked me good in the past. In fact, he fucked me pretty damn well!

It was all becoming so damn complicated. My head stubbornly clung to the belief that it was wrong to trade sex for a career while my pussy was pushing me to go for it and take advantage of the situation. After all, it WAS quite a compliment that he was willing to risk so much just to have sex with me. His wife was a real fox, the classic MILF, and I’d actually found myself wishing she was bi during our trip out to California together this past summer.

Despite myself I couldn’t help but think of how hot it would be if she was to walk in right now. We could have sex while her husband watched and then eventually he could fuck us both!

“I said take off your dress!”

My reverie was rudely interrupted and I realized that I’d been daydreaming. Mr. Eisenberg was glaring at me with a rather pissed-off expression. Apparently I hadn’t heard him the first time while my mind went off on that weird tangent. It also served to break any train of thought I might be having about enjoying this with him as my logical side regained control and I started feeling a little angry at being forced into all this.

“NOW dammit, what the hell are you waiting for whore?”

THAT was almost the straw that broke this camel’s back. It was bad enough to have to submit to him like a cheap whore just to keep my job, but to have him call me a whore was going too far. OK, so I WAS a slut but then I’m proud of my reputation. Being called a slut is an honor in that it means people see me as being sexy and they can tell I love sex. Whores, on the other hand, will do anything with anybody provide they get paid and I have no respect for anyone that does that - not even my cousin. Yet at the same time, wasn’t I doing what Mr. Eisenberg demanded for a price - my job? Did that make me a whore to him?

Reaching behind me, I unzipped my skirt in back and let it drop to the floor around my ankles. The weather was warm enough and I still had enough of a tan to get away without panty hose or stockings so my legs were bare. If this had been a normal date I might have been embarrassed to be seen in such grandmotherly panties but then he was responsible for the dress code so I guess you could say it was his fault.

The creep had stood up as I was undressing and now his arms were crossed as he waited impatiently for me to strip the rest off so I unbuttoned my blouse and stood there in nothing but a black bra and panties. My heels were still on but I would have had to unbuckle the straps so I left them on for the moment.

“Well I see you’re conforming to the dress code Miss Wells,” he said smugly, “Actually I’m a bit surprised. I would’ve thought you to be the type to push the limits a little.”

I just frowned at him and stood there with my hands on my hips, refusing to rise to his bait as I waited for his next demand. It wasn’t long in coming...

“Hmmmmmm, why don’t you come behind my desk and let’s see how your cocksucking skills have progressed since our last review.”

At least he had dropped the facade and wasn’t trying to be so subtle anymore. In a way, I was glad to get the ball rolling as the sooner things got going, the sooner this nightmare would be finished. Feeling a little slutty, I walked slowly around his desk while he was working on undoing his pants.

By the time I was in front of him he had taken them off along with his underwear such that he was standing there in just his dress shirt, tie, socks and shoes. Trouble was, he looked so ridiculous that it was all I could do to keep from breaking out in laughter. The black socks were what really did it for me, coming almost to his knees. God, how nerdy could a man look?

Laughing at him wouldn’t get me a passing grade so I bit my tongue and bent my knees to drop down in front of him until my face was level with his cock. Once again I felt conflicted. I couldn’t believe I was going to suck his dick again just so I could keep my job. Then again, on the other hand he DID have a nice looking cock and I felt myself licking my lips without even realizing what I was doing as I stared at his rising dick.

It was almost impossible for me NOT to want to suck his cock. Since I sucked my first dick over ten years ago I’ve always loved sucking on a guy’s dick. Since that first one I’ve sucked hundreds more but I never grow tired of it and I especially love it whenever I get the chance to try out a new one. Sure I’d sucked Mr. Eisenberg’s dick a few times already but still, he DID have a nice cock and I DID feel this instinctive desire within me to suck it. In fact, I didn’t even wait for him to say anything more before I leaned forward and took him my mouth right away, without even stroking him first.

Something in me suddenly mad me crave the feeling of his dick in my mouth. Well, that’s not totally accurate. What I craved was the feeling of ANY dick in my mouth, not necessarily his in particular.

“Damn, now THAT’S what I call working for a grade!” he gasped as I went down on him and stuffed his entire dick in my mouth.

He was only about half-erect and so it was a cinch to fit him in but I also knew that even when fully erect he wasn’t THAT big.

“Oh yeah, take it all just like that,” he gasped as I pressed my face into his bushy crotch, feeling his dick growing with each passing moment.

I’ve always loved that feeling I get when a man’s cock grows in my mouth. It’s like it’s magic and no matter how many times I experience it, I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of it. God I loved feeling his dick in my mouth as it hardened and lengthened.

“You love sucking dick, don’t you?” he said in a voice hoarse with his own lust, “It’s OK, you can admit it ... you love sucking MY dick, don’t you Miss Wells?”

OK, so he had me pegged. What could I say, he was right. It was no different than putting a huge steak in front of a starving man and then telling him if he ate it then he would be selling his soul. Like there would really be a decision to make? So what if I was going against everything I’d promised myself? What did it really hurt to suck his dick? Wasn’t I being a little too simplistic in my expectations? Given that I LOVED sucking cock was it really all that bad for me to suck one, especially if it meant keeping my job? Damn, like if I didn’t have a problem with sucking a guy’s dick for a free dinner, then why wasn’t it OK to suck one for a much more important thing - to keep my job?

My pussy was on fire by now and I reached down inside my panties to play with myself as I kept sucking non-stop on Mr. Eisenberg’s now fully erect dick. Mmmmmmm, I loved the way his hard cock felt in my mouth, stiff but yet smooth and soft at the same time. The sharp musk of his sex assaulted my nose and I breathed it in deeply, taking in the scent of his masculinity. My pussy was becoming more soaking wet by the minute and my finger easily slipped inside and then back up again to wet and tease my clit.

Personally, I would’ve been thrilled just sucking his dick until he came and calling it a day. After all, that’s how many of my dates went. Despite what some people might think, I don’t fuck every guy I date, at least not on EVERY date. Mr. Eisenberg, though, seemed to have different ideas.

“Stand up,” he said, regaining his voice.

Reluctantly I let his wonderful dick slip from my lips and stood in front of him. I wiped my mouth off using the back of my hand and licked my lips, the taste of his dick still in my mouth.

“God, you look so fucking hot,” he sighed as he stared at my lingerie-clad body. My assumption was that he would next insist on me taking it off next so I started to reach behind me to unhook my bra but he reached out to stop me.

“No ... leave it on,” he said urgently.

Then he reached out and hooked his fingers under the bottom of my bra, stretching it out and lifting it up and over my boobs until it was clear of them but still tight around the top of my chest. He put one hand on each of my breasts and started to squeeze them, play with my nipples between his fingertips, nipples which were bullet hard by now and sensitive to the touch. It was like a small electric shock ran through me whenever he pinched them and pulled on them.