An Edited Life, Part 2

Introduction:
It took a few moments to realize that the bed in which I’d awakened belong to Andre Gregory, my editor, and that just a few short hours before, he’d picked me up at Escape, taken me home and fucked me like no man ever had.
Slowly I stirred, still aching and sticky from the night before. But for my fears of how awkward Monday morning at the office would likely be, I’d have relished the way I felt.
Rolling from the admittedly comfortable bed, I began to wander through the house, wondering where Andre might be.
Strolling into the living room, I found Andre sitting on the sofa over which he’d bent me the previous night, positioned on the middle cushion, the exact spot where he’d taken me hard and deep. I stood before him, blushing, bare-assed, my auburn locks tangled with bed head, and he chuckled as he stared at me.
His look made me nervous to the point of fidgeting, and it struck me how unusual, how utterly foreign it felt to be so lacking in confidence.
“Gabi,” he said calmly, that velvet-smooth voice commanding attention, “please go to the kitchen and make a list of things you’ll need while you’re here this weekend and where I can find them in your apartment. While I’m fetching them, I want you to take a bath or shower.”
“But we can’t …” I tried to object before he shushed me and purred, “Please do as I’ve asked.”
My protest came to an abrupt halt, my head nodding at his words as I turned and walked to the kitchen, finding on the counter a pen and notepad on which I scribbled anything that came to mind that I might need during a weekend at my boss’s home.
After several minutes, Andre joined me in the kitchen and couldn’t help himself from teasing me for the list I was compiling, remarking, “You’re not moving in … yet.” My neck snapped as my head turned over my shoulder, my brow arching as I said, “Yet?”
Andre stood there with his arms folded, smiling as he said, “You’ve no idea what I’m thinking, do you?”
“Apparently not,” I replied.
Another chuckle passed through his lips as he reached for the paper on which I’d been writing and tore it from the pad.
“Your keys are in the purse you left in my car last night, I presume,” he asked, and I nodded in return.
“Take your time in the bath,” he said, “I’m going to be awhile.”
His last comment before leaving struck me as unusual. Andre knew where I lived and it wasn’t that far away.
I wandered into the master bath and found myself salivating at the oversized whirlpool tub, and began drawing myself a nice, hot bath, not unlike the one I’d taken before venturing to Escape, but sans the lavender and chamomile salts.
It took some time for such a large tub to fill, but it was worth the wait. The water felt divine as it flowed around me, and my body fell limp as my mind begin to process the previous evening’s events, still trying to figure out how and why I’d let it happen.
Lingering in a tub was something I’d never had to have been encouraged to do. A lengthy, relaxing bath is among life’s little treasures, so my washing was leisurely, meticulous.
How much time had passed by the time Andre returned had escaped me, because I was lost in the tub’s essence, not even caring that my fingers and toes had badly pruned in the warm water. He entered the room, his thick brown lips arching into a wry smile as he saw me lingering in the tub before opening the bag he’d packed for me and finding my shaving cream and razor, handing them to me as he confidently said, “Please shave it before you get out.”
My eyes widened with his words, and I muttered, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Andre smirked. “That thing had better be bald when you come out of that water, or I’ll shave it for you.”
It was at this point I realized that my editor’s intention of fucking me extended well beyond this weekend, having thought the “yet” he’d uttered earlier in the morning was just meant to tease. The feeling inside me was conflicted, a combination of excitement and guilt, of lust and resentment, even a little fear at his confidence, no, dominance.
Andre turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him. I rolled to my hands and knees, then pushed myself up, kneeling in the tub as I reached for the razor and shave cream, doing as he’d told me.
After shaving myself, I crawled out of the tub and dried off, finding my hair dryer and brush on the lavatory counter, right outside the bathroom, and I put them to use, eager to get into some of the clothes I’d listed for Andre to bring me as I dried my hair.
Once my hair was dried, I walked into the bedroom to find the bed made and none of my clothes. I strolled down the hall to find Andre again in the middle of the sofa, right where he’d stuffed me the night before, with a box sitting on the coffee table in front of him.
“My clothes?” I asked, drawing nothing but a snicker from my editor.
“Seriously,” I said, “I can’t spend the weekend naked.”
Ignoring my words, Andre glanced at me and said, “Lay across my lap.”
His words caught me off guard, but as I’d done since last night, I inexplicably obeyed him, stretching out tummy down over his lap, my hands crossed on the cushion to his left with my cheek resting on them, my feet on the cushion to his right.
As soon as I’d found my spot, Andre’s left hand began to caress my head as his right groped my ass, kneading it.
“Gabriella,” he said, his voice taking a more serious tone than I’d heard from him since we’d met at the club. “You’re about to take the first steps down a path like none you’ve ever experienced.”
“We’ve already …” then my reply was interrupted as his hand crashed against my bare ass, the slap’s sound filling the room, drowning out my whimper.
The surprise spank left me struggling to catch my breath when his hand battered my rump again, my body jerking atop his lap as I squealed.
I braced myself, not knowing what he was going to do next, my body relaxing only when he began to rub the ass he’d just left burning with the hard spanks.
My athletic frame remained draped over Andre as he began to speak, his hand still caressing my sore rump.
“I suspect no man has ever treated you as I have, and that last night was the first time you’d taken a black cock.”
My eyes closed as my head nodded and I listened, his hand still gliding over my buns.
“You’ve become a slave to this place, a drone. For the past six months I’ve watched you grow consumed by your work and have found it … disturbing.”
Any objection would have been futile, he was right, just as he had been when he lectured me the night before at Escape. So I laid there across him, still and listening, thankful that he was caressing me and not spanking me.
Minutes passed without him speaking, and it unnerved me, even as his rub had left me in an almost hypnotic state atop him.
Without saying a word, Andre rolled me over, the small of my back arched over his legs. His arms slipped beneath me, lifting and sliding me upward till my butt was on his thighs, leaving my pelvis slightly jutted toward him.
With his right hand, he guided my left leg outward till my foot fell to the floor, then me lead over and began to examine my pussy, silently studying me.
“Very nice,” he said after a few seconds, “a healthy pink with an ever-so-slight brown tint and delightfully protruding labia minora.”
Andre moved his fingertips to my freshly-shaved mound, gliding over it with small, gentle circles. The sensation tickled, and made me squirm. Beneath me, his cock began to awaken and my thoughts shifted from my pelvis’ tingle to just how full I’d felt with him in me the night before, before the words, “All weekend long,” flashed in my brain again.
My eyes closed, my left foot still on the floor and my right leg now bent at the knee. Andre’s hand slid from my mons to my pussy, all four of his fingers slowly, methodically flowing around and through my labia. I lifted my right hand to my mouth, inserting the forefinger and gently biting it as he teased me, his prick becoming more and more noticeable beneath my ass.
“All weekend long,” he’d said to me in that voice of his, his words from the night before now echoing in my mind repeatedly.
Andre rolled me off his lap and I stood in front of the sofa as he leaned forward and peeled off his t-shirt before he arched upward and slid out of his shorts. His feet moved outward and I knew what he wanted – what he expected – of me.
As I kneeled between his legs, the reason for my crotch’s lingering ache became obvious. My boss’s prick was a good nine inches long, perhaps closer to ten, and it was thick enough that I wondered if I could wrap my hand completely around it.
It is befitting a man who stands six-foot-three and who looks as if Da Vinci himself had carved him from stone.
Andre relaxed against the sofa’s cushion as I leaned toward him, kissing and lapping at the turgid shaft. After several moments, he scooted forward and my lips moved to his swollen crown, stretching as they enveloped it.
He gasped as my tongue’s tip began to slide back and forth in the cleft on the underside of his head, as it struck me that I’d never get all of him into my mouth. My lips began to descend my mouth simultaneously filled with his dick and my own saliva as I inched further and further down him.
Andre released what sounded like a satisfied purr as his cock filled my mouth and its crown began to gape my throat. Sending my hesitation, he placed his palm on the back of my head, pressing downward till I gagged hard around his rod, holding me in place until my eyes began to water.
His fingers then gripped my hair and he led my head to a steady bob, my jaws stretched wide and my tongue flexing against his prick’s underside as my mouth fucked him.
“You are such a good … little … bitch,” he moaned as I worked up and down his dick.
His words sent a chill down my spine. For half a dozen months, Andre had treated me as a professional, an equal, as we’d toiled long hours together day after day, creating the media that kept people plugged into The Meadows and now, “good … little … bitch.”
I had no time to process his words before Andre’s hands found my armpits and he lifted he upward, just enough to slide me to my back on the sofa. Once he had me prone, his arms scooped my legs at the knees, and without hesitation he slid into me again.
“Slowly,” I gasped. “Still sore.”
While his entered me more gently than he had the night before, my words didn’t stop him from sinking deeper and deeper as he held my legs high.
Once he had filled me completely, Andre leaned forward, brushing his nose against mine. As his hips began to rock, he kissed me passionately, forcefully, his tongue filling my mouth as his cock slid in and out of my aching snatch.
Settling into a steady motion, he broke the kiss, guiding my legs around his waist. Andre grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the sofa as he made slow, meticulous strokes, sending every inch of him into me before withdrawing, repeating, repeating, my frame wiggling in sync with his use.
Everything about the last twelve hours – Andre’s words, his actions, the way he filled me unlike anyone else – left me feeling more like I was being possessed than enjoying a long-overdue tryst.
What was happening to me?
How did I end up on my boss’s sofa with his dick inside me, my wrists pinned and my pussy still tender from his use last night?
What would my parents think of their thirty-year-old daughter declining to object at a black man calling her his “bitch”?
Did Andre even bother to grab my pills from the apartment?
What was in the mysterious box on the coffee table?
My wandering mind snapped to attention when Andre’s gentle flow turned to hard, deep thrusts, his full, heavy balls bouncing against my ass, his hands’ grips on my wrists tightening.
“I’ve wanted to nail you since the first time I saw you,” he growled.
His words might have shocked me had I not been consumed with his use of my body, my own whimpers and his pelvis’s repeated slaps of my crotch burying what he said.
I found myself caring less and less about the moral implications of fucking my boss. It was something to deal with Monday, after he’d finished whatever the hell he’d planned on doing with me for the next two days.
Andre let go of my wrists, his hands slipping beneath my back and he lifted me off the sofa till he was standing. I held on tight with my arms and legs as he drove upward, all of my weight seemingly held in the air by his cock.
His hands found my ass, groping it as he stood in his living room, stuffing me till I lost control, emitting something between a moan and a scream when my slit squirted all over him and onto his living room’s hardwood floor.
“That’s what I want from my girl,” Andre cooed, showing no signs of stopping his relentless cramming and groping.
I laid my head on his shoulder, still holding on tight, resigning myself to his use, panting as my body trembled against his as a sharper ache grew within me.
“Your girl?” I muttered as he feverishly dicked me.
“My girl,” he replied, just before he buried himself deep within me and sent another torrent of seed into my womb.
My body tensed against him as he unloaded, and almost immediately his spunk began to drip from my folds as the spurts continued.
Andre sat on the sofa, and then laid back, pulling me atop him. My frame went limp as we silently nuzzled.
After several moments with no words between us, I sighed, “Since the first time you saw me?”
“Yes,” he replied in that silky-smooth voice. “I’d like to say I’d planned this, but it’d be more honest to simply admit that when I saw you at the club last night, I simply decided not to waste an opportunity that might not present itself again.”
“And now that you’ve had me?” I asked, genuinely curious as to his answer.
“I’ll continue to do so,” he said confidently and without hesitation.
His words were both reassuring and unnerving. Andre’s bold, aggressive behavior was unlike anything I’d been subjected to, and as the hours passed I found myself almost craving it. But how could I continue to work with him – and supervise others with him – while being made his “bitch”?
My tummy growled. It was approaching noon and I’d not eaten.
“I should fix us lunch,” Andre said.
“Some food would be nice,” I replied.
We sat up together and he motioned for me to follow him. We walked toward the back of the house, through the kitchen to French doors which led outside to a deck, a pool and a yard that were enclosed by a privacy fence.
“Take one of the loungers,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
Tentatively, I walked out of the house, and the sun’s warmth embraced my bare flesh till reaching a lounger beneath a pergola alone one side of the pool, and made myself as comfortable as I could be under the circumstances.
Within a couple of minutes, one of the French doors opened long enough for Andre to ask me what I wanted to drink with lunch. Remembering his affinity for orange juice, I replied, “OJ!” and then he ducked back inside.
A thin black fabric was attached to the pergola’s top, offering some protection from the sun’s rays. As I relaxed on the lounger, I couldn’t help but think how much I’d enjoy lunch, a nap, and then a dip in the pool’s cool water.
Andre soon returned with a lunch consisting of chicken salad sandwiches, a side of pasta salad and orange juice. We dined at a table a few feet from the lounger where I’d been sitting, him in swim trunks and a t-shirt and me still naked.
“I suppose I should put on some clothes after we eat,” I said.
Andre smiled as he looked at me, chewing a bite of his sandwich and saying nothing.
Realizing he was in no particular hurry to respond, I said, “Well, I can’t stay naked all weekend.”
The comment evoked a slight chuckle from Andre as he continued to chew. After swallowing he said, “Of course not. We’re going out later. But the thought of your staying nude while here does have its appeal.”
We continued to eat and make small talk. While simple, the lunch was good, particularly since I’d not eaten since before bathing the night before.
Once we’d finished eating, Andre informed me that he needed to go inside and make a few work-related calls, and suggested that I remain on the deck and relax while he caught up on work, so I returned to the lounger I’d been on before as Andre collected our plates and glasses and disappeared back into the house.
The muted sunlight felt good again my skin with my body stretched out on the lounger’s pad. My eyes soon closed and I drifted off to sleep, my head filled with thoughts of all that had happened since Andre approached me at the club last night.
It was nearing 2:30 p.m. when I awoke to Andre’s fingertips tickling the soles of my feet, causing me to giggle and writhe as I snapped from the slumber.
Once he had my attention, Andre crawled onto the lounger with me, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me passionately, holding me firmly as his tongue swirled in my mouth. He broke the kiss only after letting it linger for awhile, and then we looked at each other, again leaving me wondering what he was thinking.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“Very, very relaxed, refreshed,” I sighed.
Andre’s right hand moved to my left breast, lightly kneading it at first, before massaging it more aggressively as he continued.
A lengthy exhale flowed through my nostrils as he groped me, and I found myself wondering less as to whether Andre was always so insatiable than how delightful – and challenging – it might be if he actually were.
His hand moved back and forth between my orbs, and the fire within me began to ignite again to the point that my pussy’s light tang reached my nostrils again. Andre must have caught my scent, too, because he let go of my breast and turned his attention to my bare mons, and began rubbing it with his palm.
My head lifted enough to watch Andre’s palm flow in slow circles against my skin, his fingers and thumb held up so as to not touch me. His hand is large enough that when he curled his middle and ring fingers, they sank through my folds inside me, and I moaned as my legs bent at the knees and spread for him.
“Are you always this … charged?” I purred.
“No,” he said, then added in something between a teasing and taunting tone, “Sometimes I’m much, much worse.”
His thick digits pulsed inside me, and I could think of nothing but the passion, the affection, the dominance he’d displayed since last night. I was surprised at how comfortable I was with it all, even without knowing what he was thinking or what would happen next.
Andre pulled his fingers from my pussy and placed them at my mouth. They glistened with my nectar and radiated my bouquet as my lips parted and I suckled them, tasting both my own honey mixed with a faint saltiness of the seed he’d deposited in me before lunch.
Once his fingers were clean, Andre slid them from between my lips and rolled off the lounger, grabbing my legs and dragging me downward till my butt was against the edge of the chair’s foot end. He kneeled before me, lifted my legs over his shoulders and buried his tongue between my folds, and I sighed softly as he lapped at me, confident I was to be taken again
.
Repeatedly, Andre’s tongue began at my rose, dragged through my tender lips and stopped after flowing over my clit. With each lick, I held my breath and my body tensed as I savored the sensation, his slow, methodical attentiveness to my body.
Since moving to The Meadows, my life had been filled with the controlled, the rational and the professional. What Andre was doing to me was basic and primal, and I was finding myself getting more and more sucked in by the departure from my routine.
My mind was a void by the time Andre lifted up and plunged into me again, my pussy offering no resistance to his entry, thanks to his earlier use of me. My legs crossed behind his back and he kneeled at the foot of the lounger, the rest of his body upright as he rocked back and forth, and my hands extended outward, firmly grabbing the chair armrests as he again made me his.
It wasn’t long before Andre’s thrusts grew with intensity and depth. My breasts jiggled more and more wildly as the fuck became more primal. My body was growing more used to having Andre between my legs, filling me completely and with each drive into my womb, I cared less as to what Monday would hold.
My mind’s drift was shattered when Andre’s hand crashed against my tit, causing me to yelp.
“Pay attention to me when I’m fucking you,” he said in a mocking tone.
My arms wrapped around my orbs as his words sank in, leaving me feeling like a scolded child.
“Hands back to the armrests,” he smirked as the intense thrusts continued.
I did as I was told, gripping the chairs arms again, his other hand immediately slapping my other breast, causing me to tense head to toe as I squealed, “That hurts!”
Andre grabbed my hips, the backs of my legs running up his torso, my feet dangling over his shoulders as he drilled me almost violently, my body heaving forward as he used me. His cock began to twitch inside me as it had the other two times he’d fucked me and another rush of his seed filled me.
My body was a mess. The chair’s cushion was covered in my sweat and my crotch was soaked with my and Andre’s fluids as he grabbed my legs and led them downward till my feet were flat against the deck.
Andre stood and then took a step backward, looking at me as if admiring his work. He offered me his hand and I took it, and he helped me up and began walking toward the house, eager to see what would happen next.
We moved through the kitchen and into the living room, my hand in Andre’s as we walked. We stood on the rug on the opposite side of the table from the sofa on which he’d already fucked me twice. I complied when he asked me to kneel and he turned his back and lifted the top from the box that had been sitting on the table since this morning.
My eyes widened and my heart pounded in my chest as I saw his hand emerge from the box with a collar. I remained still as he turned toward me and opened the hinged ring, placing it around my neck and snapping it closed before slipping a small padlock through the back rings and sealing it shut.
I now knew what Andre Gregory wanted with me.

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