Unnatural Attraction; the Torrid Tale of Delores
Copyright© 2020 by storyace
Chapter 3
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Delores reminisces on the affairs she's had during her long life, beginning in 1967. Society is changing, sexual expression is no longer suppressed. Delores has her first orgasm at 17 with her lusty older boss. A prequel to my story "unnatural attraction"
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft mt/Fa Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Historical Workplace
Delores finds her friend Evon living in sin, and joins her.
Hey baby! Like what I’m wearing today? Old style, stockings and heels. No lipstick today though, can you guess why? Because I want a little kiss first. Come closer, just a small one. Mmmmm.
Ok, get naked and have a seat.
I arrived at a rundown house in San Francisco where Evon lived. My old friend had grown into a very different person. She was bright, funny, and colorfully dressed. She’d traveled all over the place, and had so many men that she made me feel like a nun. We bonded as if we’d never been apart.
She told me of her lovers, I told her I’d been at it too, and we laughed; she wouldn’t have been so open minded if she knew it was her father and then her grandfather who I’d been fucking. Free love hippie shit just didn’t go that far.
The house was a commune; not a crazy sex type, more about sharing food and space. There was plenty of sex too.
I moved into Evon’s room with her. Not as a couple, that was still really not a thing. She was bonking one or two of the guys in the house from time to time, we were just friends.
I went job-hunting. There was plenty of work a young woman, all underpaid as usual. I really liked the fourth place I went; it was a law office, and everyone was really well dressed. The place was swank, it smelled nice in there. The lawyers were all young (compared to Ron anyway), and smart. I didn’t get the job at first, so I went back and asked why.
“We’re looking for girls with a little more experience.” The head receptionist told me, “Listen, you’re young and pretty, you don’t want to work for these guys.”
“They get handsy?” I asked excitedly.
“Exactly. VERY handsy.” She said sadly.
“That’s ok with me.” I told her, “I’ve been working for very handsy men since I was 17. How about a trial period?”
It turned out that most or all of the lawyers were banging their secretaries. I was on rotation at first, so I pretty much had a choice. I flirted with them all, and then let myself get seduced by a bald 45 year old lawyer named Anton.
He was decent looking, always well dressed and clean shaven, gold rimmed glasses, he smelled nice and wasn’t too fat. He was short though. Like all the other girls, I wore stockings and heels, so the top of his smooth white scalp was level with my chin.
I liked to stroke it; his head was oddly sensual, and it relaxed him when he was stressed. Our affair started that way, I stood behind his chair as he leaned back in thought about some point or other of the case he was working, and I just couldn’t resist. He sighed and seemed to like it, so I massaged his ears and cheeks. I didn’t mean to get him all riled up, but the next thing I knew he stood up and pulled me tight, his hands grabbed my ass and I just had to kiss him.
He didn’t fuck me there in his office though. He was a decent man, and took me out to dinner, then to a hotel. A really nice hotel.
I undressed for him slowly, we both laughed at my little show, he asked me to leave my shoes and stockings on, his smooth soft hands felt nice on my body and breasts.
They were a little bigger by then; to be honest, I had slightly more ass too. Anton spread me out, grinned happily, and took my head in his hands as he presented his limp cock to my mouth, as if I were his by right. I liked that.
It took some effort to get him hard; I ran my fingers over his ass, tickled his balls, and looked into his eyes as I sucked on his penis, which grew to a nice 6 or 7 inches. He ran his fingers through my hair, smiled, and made happy noises.
I felt so good when his wealthy rod was inside me; this was more like it, I thought. A real professional man with money, an office, and hygiene. I could work for a man like that for a good long time if he could just make me come.
He sort of did; anyway, I liked it when he came. Like all the men did back then, he squirted it into me without a care. It was up to us women to look after birth control, it was never even mentioned.
Anton liked me to wear 3” pumps and separate stockings; that way, my vagina was at just the right height for him to put his cock in as he held me against his office wall during our lunch break.
I liked the ‘nooners’. Fucking instead of eating helped me control my weight. I held his baby-like head against my neck and opened my knees while he shoved it up my middle, grunting and groaning as he lifted it higher, harder, grabbed my ass, and when I wanted him to come I just tilted his face up, bent mine down, and kissed him softly.
He’d shoot it off every time. I felt a weird sense of satisfaction from it.
He gave me a raise so I could get my own apartment. The trouble was, the apartment cost more than the raise, and I was expected to wear really expensive clothes and shoes, have my hair done and use good makeup. all that sort of thing. It was all nice enough, Anton would take me for ‘convention’ weekend trips, and buy me small presents. I just never managed to save any money.
Some of the other girls saw it as a chore, I thought of the sex as a bonus. I had little orgasms as the lawyer had his way with me. Mostly, I liked the touch. I liked the way the otherwise powerful man got naked and vulnerable.
The work itself was boring; they never gave any responsibility to the female staff, or listened to anything we had to say. I was starting to get frustrated. I mean, I liked it and all, he just didn’t have that big dick I needed to really get off.
I tactfully asked the other girls; Trudy told me that her boss, one of the other partners, was hung like a horse. I tried to get her to swap with me, she just laughed; “Sorry Delores! You’re stuck with little Anton.”
One evening we were working late, and I was on my knees with a mouth full of his cock, when one of the cleaning staff came in. She stared at us in shock, and quietly backed away again.
She was a sort of friend of mine, we often shared a coffee and a little gossip. I talked to her later.
“Were you shocked?” I asked her.
“Only at how tiny his pecker is!” she joked, and we had a good laugh.
“Yeah, he’s nice, only he doesn’t quite do it for me.” I told her, “I need a big one you know. Is it true, what they say about colored men?”
“Well honey, I’ve been with a few.” She confided, “Nothing much to say about them. But you know Jerome, the man who comes in to do the carpets? I heard he’s hung like a horse.”
So yeah, I made sure I was alone in the office with the carpet guy next time he was there, and sure enough, he had a monster cock. I liked the interracial, cross cultural thing a lot, it was really forbidden. I think it still is.
I was SO excited, and he was too, he was young and handsome, quite into banging a fancy white secretary too. I just stared into his eyes for 10 seconds, and he was on me, hands on my ass and tongue in my mouth. I reached down, and he was at least as big as Ron, maybe bigger.
My vagina was wet with anticipation as I pulled my underwear down and sat on a desk with my legs up, while he slid his big black rod into me.
It felt good; SO good. We grinned at each other as he fucked me with competence, confidence. He was a man who knew what he had, and how to use it too. It felt nice. And that’s about all.
He used to come to clean the carpets each week, and he would come in me too. I kept hoping his big dick would do that thing to me that Henry and Ron did; it was always close, and never quite happened.
Then we got caught, and I got fired. Yes, the rich white man who had enjoyed screwing me lunch every day, fired me for doing it with a black man.
As I was packing up my things to leave, Trudy told me that her boss had told her, Anton had divorced his wife because he was intending to propose to me.
I felt bad for him; at the same time, I sure dodged a bullet there.
My next boss had a decent 7 inch thing, and he tried really hard too. He even rented a fancy hotel room once, and he did everything right.
He kissed me everywhere, went down on me, and did it perfectly well.
Nothing, nada.
I told him it was alright, I’m just like that. I enjoy a little cuddle in the office, and I was happy to suck him off too, but the romance shit didn’t work on me.
Guys like women who come, so he said we should stop; I had to quit. Somehow, I just didn’t feel right working for a man without sex. I mean, he didn’t even want blowjobs.
I still enjoyed men, I liked to flirt and date, kiss and touch, suck their cocks and eat their spunk. Good men were uncomfortable with that, selfish asshole men didn’t care.
At my new work I was doing well. My boss gave me a little more responsibility and a little more pay. Maybe it was the blowjobs; He petted my head and smiled at me in approval as I licked his big balls and then sucked on his stiff old cock until he squirted his excretions down my throat. He was fat, grey, and 58 years old. He was always nice to me, and we got along really well.
I swallowed it down, and I was happy. I took my pleasure vicariously, when a man looked at me all soft and came inside me hard, I knew I had value. I was ok.
I had an apartment and a car too. I went on dates with young men, had fun, occasional sex if we liked each other. In other words, I had a decent, normal life.
Then I got a call; my mother was dying. I had to go ‘home’. My work contract had a penalty clause, so did my rent contract. So I was broke again.
In our decaying steel town, work was scarce. My old house was nearly paid off, just seven payments to go. Mom couldn’t work anymore, so I needed a job. Besides, the tension between us was intense. I didn’t want to spend my whole day there with her.
Henry called; I nearly hung up on him.
“Delores, I’m starting a second shop in Weston.” He told me, “There’s lots of agriculture and some industry over there. My son Bob just got back from Vietnam, he’ll be in charge but he doesn’t know shit from shinola. I’ll pay you $100 a week.”
“$150.” I told him, thinking that would get him off my back, but instead he agreed.
“And I don’t want to see you.” I added.
I never liked Bob. He was big and tall, good looking back then too. But rude and unfriendly. Usually.
He’d signed up and done three tours; I hadn’t seen him while I worked for and got fucked by his dad. Now he was back, nastier, ruder, and older.
I thought I had a sweet deal at that salary, I only figured out years later that it was Henry and Bob Haas who came out ahead, while I just gave head.
I knew this business; I knew who the good suppliers were, what the jobs were and how to bill them. I interviewed employees and observed their work, and even though I didn’t know how to do the technical things myself, I did know what it should look like, the sounds of the machinery told me whether they knew what they were doing. I wrote advertisements, sent out mail, obtained permits, insurance, inspections. I knew the jargon and how to convince new customers to give us a try, and I knew how to talk to my guys.
A hard edge, a little flirtation, a compliment when the work was good.
Bob was totally useless at first. But to give him his due he was smart, worked hard, and the hired guys showed him how to work the machine tools while I showed him the rest.
I had a long drive to work. Sometimes I slept there.
Bob and me were like oil and water; we disagreed about almost everything beyond the business. He was a right-wing republican army sergeant, I was a left-wing hippie.
He was my boss; and a Haas. I hated him, and I wanted him. I hated myself for that desire.
I tried not to argue with him about politics, which meant just clamping my mouth shut most of the time. He knew what my views were, I knew what his were.
Our affair began just a week after we started working together, before we were even open for business. It had been a frustrating day, two safety inspections that seemed to contradict each other. Bob was good with the fire marshal and I was better with the OSHA guy. We were standing at a table covered with paper, talking about what to do when, when there was a crash outside as a loaded truck drove through a pothole. A noise that would usually be forgotten a second later.
Bob shook, grabbed the table, and took a deep breath, his face was flushed and he was suddenly sweating.
“God damn it!” he grumbled angrily.
“It was just a truck.” I said.
“Yeah, I know that!” he shouted angrily. “Fucking shell shock! There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Are you ok?” I asked.
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