Work It

      Heather Towne

      I don’t work for money, I work for sex. And I don’t have to work very hard, if I do say so myself. The money just seems to follow all on its own.

      It all started when I turned eighteen. I didn’t have the brains or ambition for college, but I was sure I had what it took to succeed in the working world. Specifically, I’m a tall, leggy, busty redhead with violet eyes and porcelain skin, and good taste in fashion.

      I didn’t really try to flaunt my natural charms at first, it just sort of happened by accident – when I showed up for a job interview with a run in my stocking and buttons missing on my blouse.

      I saw the ad in the paper for a secretary at the office of the local diocese. And by the time I’d travelled two bus routes and fought my way through throngs of people and a wicked west wind, I found that I’d lost the two top buttons on my green satin blouse and had picked up a long run in my sheer pantyhose, from my right knee all the way up to my thigh. And there was no time to take corrective action because, by the time I noticed the wardrobe malfunctions, I was already inside the Bishop’s office, being interviewed for the job.

      He stared at my chest when I stuck out my hand to shake his, then at my legs when I sat down and crossed them. ‘Uh, yes, Ms. Songaard, what, uh, experience do you have for this particular job?’ Bishop McKenzie asked me. His soft voice kind of broke, and his brown eyes widened, as I reached up and fluffed out my wavy red hair, thrusting my chest out even more.

      ‘Well, um,’ I explained, smoothing my hand over the bare flesh exposed on my thigh below my short white silk skirt. ‘None really, I guess. I just got out of school, you see. But I’m willing to learn – eager to learn new things.’ I batted my long, blackened eyelashes.

      Bishop McKenzie was small and sort of delicately featured, with a handsome face and slim figure. He wasn’t the stuffy church person I’d expected at all. He looked at my thigh and chest and smiled and said, ‘You’re enthusiastic?’

      ‘Very!’ I smiled back.

      He cleared his throat, refocused his eyes. ‘Typing skills?’

      ‘I text a lot.’

      ‘Accounting knowledge?’

      ‘I get a bank statement every month.’

      ‘Receptionist duties?’

      ‘Oh, I’m on the phone all the time.’

      I pulled my skirt down and sort of folded my blouse together. And Bishop McKenzie almost leapt out of his chair like he wanted to stop me.

      ‘I think I’ll take a chance on you, Ms. – Ellen,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘I know how difficult it can be for a young person to get started in the labour force these days –’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘– and I think you’ll be a quick study.’

      I gushed, ‘Thank you, Bishop McKenzie!’ jumping up and grabbing the man’s hand again.

      He squeezed my hand with both of his. ‘You can call me Derek,’ he said, eyes sparkling and teeth shining. ‘We’re all pretty informal around here. You can start right away?’

      ‘E-mmediately!’

      * * *

      The work was pretty easy. It was a small office, just me and an older woman who was supposed to train me to take over from her when she retired in a couple of years. She answered the phone, opened the mail, typed up the correspondence and made entries in the accounting system. Most of the time I was with Derek. He always seemed to have some special job for me to do.

      Like a day after I’d started, he got me to help him set things up for the Sunday service in the church attached to the office. He gave me a quick tour of the old building, guiding me along by the elbow. I gaped at the big stained-glass windows, the elaborate sculptures and woodwork.

      ‘Do you attend church on a regular basis, Ellen?’ he asked.

      ‘No, never,’ I replied.

      He squeezed my elbow. ‘We’ll have to change that. It can be quite a moving, rewarding experience, you know.’

      ‘OK.’

      He got me to polish the altar – a big old oak table with huge scrolled legs. And when I was bending across it to reach a corner spot, I felt him sort of brush up against me from the back with the crotch of his dark pants. I was wearing a short red skirt, my long legs sheathed in white nylon stockings. I guess I gave him a pretty good view of my bum bent over like that, and he seemed to appreciate it, judging by the bulge in his pants that I felt rubbing against me.

      ‘You’re – you’re a very … charming young woman, Ellen,’ he gulped, like his collar was choking him. He grasped my waist tighter, rubbed his crotch against my bum harder. His bulge pushed my red satin panties right into my butt crack. He looked so handsome and powerful in his black suit with the white collar, the stained-glass window lit up with the sun right behind him.

      Maybe I was having a religious experience or whatever they call it, but I got real excited, too. I was wearing a sleeveless white blouse with no bra, and my nipples tightened with feeling, pressing into the silk. My pussy tingled and dampened in my panties. I sort of shifted my bum up and down, helping Derek rub his swelling erection against me. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, saint-like.

      Then he rubbed even harder, really pumping me. And by the way he was gritting his teeth and shaking, it looked like he was already close to coming. I wasn’t at all sure there would be a second coming, so I had to get in on the first. I was hot and bothered myself.

      I pushed away from the altar table, shoving Derek back. Then I spun around, ripped my blouse open and tore my skirt off, offering up my body to the man of God. It seemed the right thing to do.

      Derek grinned ecstatically, taking up my large breasts in his soft, warm hands, staring at them with glazed eyes. He caressed my boobs, his brushing fingers and cupping palms making my cherry-red nipples explode outward with emotion. He captured my buzzing tit-tips between his slim fingers and rolled them. I flung my arms around his neck and excitedly kissed him, swirling my tongue inside his mouth.

      For a minister, he really knew his way around a woman’s body. He pulled his bright pink tongue out of my mouth and brought it down to my breasts, spun it all around my jutting nipples.

      ‘Oooh, Father!’ I moaned, sliding my fingers into his hair and grabbing his head. ‘Reverend! I mean, Derek!’

      He sucked one of my vibrating nipples into his warm, wet mouth and tugged on it with his plush lips while gripping and groping my boobs. Then he bounced his head over to my other breast at the urging of my fingernails in his scalp, and sucked on that needful nipple. I shivered with delight, chest flaming.

      Derek’s hands dropped off my tits and down onto my panties. I helped him skin the dampened underwear down my legs, jumping in my red leather high heels to clear them from my feet. My boobs shuddered in his face, and he just had to suck on them some more before he dropped down to his knees at the ginger-furred altar in between my legs, and blessed my pussy with his lips.

      ‘Oh, Father!’ I yelped, grabbing his head again and splashing his face into my pussy.

      I was so-o-o wet and juicy, super-sensitive. Derek clutched my mounded butt cheeks and dragged his tongue up and down my slit, licking my lower lips, my puffed-up clit.

      It felt wonderful! I wetted his tongue even more with a hot squirt of my juices. He’d been the one about to come prematurely, but now it was me, inspired by the holy man’s unholy skill at lapping a girl’s snatch.