Finishing Up

Sometimes sex is on the table. My goal here was to provide the characters with the emotional motivation required to make the orgy plausible. – Malinov

Finishing Up
by Lord Malinov

I was not looking forward to work, on that particular day. For about a year, Michelle had headed up our office. It had been a good year. Before her, Big Joe had been our boss. That year sucked. Who would move into the position was anyone’s guess, but history would suggest that it would be someone terrible – unqualified and arrogant. Corporate seemed to like that in a boss. Michelle had been an exception. We would soon be back in the realm of the rule.

Michelle, as I said, was a good boss. She pushed us just as hard as Big Joe had, harder in fact. Our numbers proved that Michelle was more than just competent. She had excelled in almost every way. Sadly, it came as no surprise that when Michelle received a job offer from one of our big competitors, corporate made absolutely no effort to keep her. The reward for doing good work, in our company, is being chased away. Politics was more important than profit to corporate. By being excellent, Michelle wasn’t being a team player, from their twisted point of view.

In that, they were wrong. Michelle was an excellent team player.

The day progressed in the usual fashion, as though nothing special was underway, as though losing Michelle was just business as usual. After lunch, corporate supplied us with a big white pan cake with the words “Good Luck” splayed out in thick green frosting. Michelle, holding a plate of cake, explained for the hundredth time the wonderful opportunity she was pursuing. I sat with the rest of the guys who actually worked for her, picking at the cake with a plastic fork and feeling slightly sick.

“This sucks,” said Dave. The rest of us shook our heads and nodded in negative agreement.

“She should take us with her,” said Paul.

“As if,” said Tom, his mouth full of cake.

“You know they’re going to give her job to Randy.”


“I’m not working for Randy.”

“Yeah, you are. We’re all stuck here.”


“She’s not only a great boss, but also the finest looking woman who has ever worked here.”

“It figures. They gave us just enough good to make us hate our jobs more.”

“I’m quitting.”

“No you aren’t.”

“No, I’m not. But I should.”

“The next place would be worse. Even with Randy in charge, this is the best you can do.”


It was about two o’clock when Michelle called us into her office. The four of us, her guys, filed in and took our usual seats around the table. Normally, this was her procedure when she wanted to bust our balls over some screw-up. She crossed the room to shut the door. Every one of us, as usual, watched her ass move as she passed us. More than anything, I thought, I’m going to miss that ass. Michelle snapped the door shut and then did something she had never done before. She locked it.

“Guys,” she said as she walked back across the room and leaned against her desk, “this has been the best year of my life. We’ve been an incredible team, so good that it made corporate nervous. If I didn’t take the job in Massachusetts, they were going to split us up. There was no way I was going to keep working here without you guys. My success depends completely on the work you’ve done for me. I owe you a lot.”

I won’t lie. Part of me wanted to bust out in tears. She was the coolest boss I had ever known and life without her was going to suck. Another part of me, however, was fixated on her cleavage, the deep cavern formed between her succulent, pendulous breasts, confined in a frame of tawny lace, peeking out from the gap in her satin shirt. Every morning and afternoon, at least twice a day for about two-hundred and fifty days, I stared at her chest as she spoke. I knew the rhythm of her breath and the subtle motions of her breasts. It was hypnotic and if we worked as well as she suggested we did, under her, I would attribute the effect to the mesmerized state she put us in.

“We’re close enough to the end of the day. From this moment on, I am no longer your boss. That said, we have some business that needs to be finished before I go my own way. I hate to leave a job with unanswered question and unfinished business.”

I looked at Dave and we looked at Tom and Paul looked at us. It was Friday and our desks were clean. The thought was unspoken and serious – she’d better not spring a last minute project on us now.

“Nothing like that,” she said, reading our minds. “You know when we have our morning meeting and I lean over like this …” Michelle leaned over and put her hands on the table. Her breasts nearly fell out of her shirt. Every one of us gasped.

“When I’m leaning over like this, I know what you’re thinking. What do my nipples look like?”

“That’s the truth,” said Tom.

“When I lean over like this,” she said, dropping a pen and bending over to pick it up, “you’re thinking ‘Is she wearing any panties?”

“Are you?”

“These are questions that need answering. You’re my crack team. I know you know how to find the answers. You tell me.”

Michelle took hold of the hem of her skirt and slowly lifted the fabric. Just as the first glimpse of tawny pubes curled into view, she said, “I’ve never worn panties.”

Our eyes stared open wide. Low groans erupted. Lips were licked.

She began to unbutton her shirt. “My nipples are fantastic,” she said as she pulled down the straps of her bra and reached behind release the cups and prove her point.

“All right, boys,” she said, revealed naked before us. “Stand at attention.”

She reached for Paul’s buckle and expertly unfastened his belt and pants. We instinctively followed suit. As she took Paul’s cock in her mouth, three more erect dicks bobbed around her head. One by one, she took sucks of each. After three times around, she lifted her ass and with her eyes directed me to move behind her.

The next thirty minutes were a blur of flesh and throbs. I think the most amazing part, perhaps the most telling aspect, was how well we worked the gangbang together. Everyone knew their place, the proper position, the best angles, the hottest moves. Michelle’s moans probably informed the entire office of our efficiency in this final task. Single penetrations were followed by double penetrations. Cocks fought playfully to get into her eager mouth. We made that woman cum and cum and cum.

After she swallowed the last throbbing globs of our appreciation, Michelle began to collect her clothes. We sat back down around the table, exhausted and satiated.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you guys. I think we’re finished here.”

A few minutes later, she was gone. As expected, Randy took over her position. He wasn’t as bad as we thought he would be, but we were all agreed. Randy was no Michelle. Not by a long shot.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
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