Hot Wife's Office Romp (Cuckold by the Boss 2) by Deana Michaels

Author:Deana Michaels [Michaels, Deana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Naughty Ladies Publications
Published: 2021-11-08T06:00:00+00:00

* * *

George Thompson

I had just got settled in at my new office, placing a photo of Fiona in her wedding dress besides my computer monitor, when y phone rang. I picked it up and a woman's voice purred, “Mr. Richards would like to see you.”

Humiliation burned through my cheeks as I groaned, “Thanks. I'll be right there.”

“I'm cumming! I'm cumming on your big, Black cock, Mr. Richards!” echoed through my mind.

This was all so fucked up. I stood up and adjusted my tie. I walked out of my office. It wasn't that big, but it was still an office. I slipped out and moved through the cubicles. Here worked the three paralegals, two IT, and two data processors. Bill was at the water cooler. He gave me a nod.

His wife loved fucking Mr. Richards, didn't she? So did my wife. She hadn't faked it. She didn't know I was listening. That I heard her moan. And now Mr. Richards wanted to see me. I hadn't looked him in the eye since he stole my wife.

The humiliation only grew. I felt everyone staring at me. Everyone knew I was the newest cuckold of the company. Too much of a wimp to stop my boss from fucking my wife. My cheeks burned hot as I reached Mr. Richards's office. He had a small waiting area screened off by plants and some cubicle walls. His secretary, a Hispanic woman named Rosa, set at her desk, facing a comfortable couch for people to sit while waiting.

Sitting on the couch across from her was Michelle, the redhead secretary.

My cheeks burned as I remembered her working her mouth up and down my cock while Fiona gasped and moaned. A fresh sort of shame washed through me. I had never cheated on my wife. But she had gone to the billionaire first.

Why should I feel guilty?

“Hey, George,” she purred, this hot gleam in her green eyes. Her large breasts jiggled in her tight, low-cut blouse.

I swallowed. “Hi, Michelle.”

“Go right on in, George,” Rosa said. “He's waiting on you.”

I opened the door and found a large corner office, two walls all windows. There were shelves covered in books, not law books. They were fiction books. And all sorts of genres. Westerns by Louis L'Amour. Steven King and Dean Koontz horror thrillers, Tom Clancy techno-thrillers, a leather-bound edition of Lord of the Rings, and plenty of books by authors I did not recognize.

No John Grisham, though.

His desk was a large, mahogany affair with three computer screens on it. He rose from it, wearing a dark-gray silk shirt with cufflinks and a scarlet tie. Black slacks fitted it. A tall, African-American man who smiled and motioned me over to a few chairs around a coffee table.

Comfortable, leather chairs.

I sat in one. “Coffee?” he asked as he sat in the other. “Tea?”

“I'm good, sir,” I said.

He smiled. “Well, how is the new office?”

“It's fine, sir. Never had an office.” My cheeks burned. This was the man who had made my wife cry out in ecstasy just yesterday.

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