My Last Day at the Office Ended Differently

Marcela had already made up her mind. She was going to quit her job. She was fed up. Fed up with the absurd tasks they assigned her, fed up with the miserable salary she earned, fed up with her envious coworkers and, above all, fed up with her disgusting immediate boss, a dirty old man who stared at her shamelessly and had tried to take liberties with her more than once.

She put him in his place the day he went too far. She grabbed him by the testicles in fury, twisted them hard, and didn’t let go until the man dropped to his knees on the floor and begged her forgiveness.

“You disgusting bastard!” she shouted. “Dirty old man. Don’t ever come near me again.”

Since then—almost a year ago—he hadn’t touched her again. But Marcela’s stomach still churned every time she saw his face, even more so when she caught him trying the same thing with some of her shyer coworkers, the ones who didn’t dare stand up to him.

She was no longer comfortable at the company. Nothing motivated her to get up eagerly in the mornings. Not the salary, not the atmosphere, and certainly not the old man. Nor the nearly two-hour traffic jam she endured every day to get there, or the inhuman hours they imposed on her. Everything was a disaster, and she needed a change soon.

The only thing that sometimes managed to bring a smile to her face and send her drifting into daydreams was the company’s manager and owner. At just thirty-four, he had inherited the business and the responsibility of running it after his father’s sudden death. With little experience in the business world, he still lacked the vices of more seasoned businessmen. He was fair, decent, and treated people with respect and courtesy.

But what truly captivated Marcela was how incredibly hot he was. That newly matured man’s body seemed molded for sin. Tall, strong, broad-shouldered, with an ass that made her want to bite it whenever they happened to share an elevator. Handsome to the point of unfairness, he was the subject of every woman in the building’s gossip. More than once, in the bathroom, she had slipped two fingers inside herself while thinking of him, imagining herself on her knees sucking him deep, or face-down across his desk with the huge cock she sensed splitting her in two.

He wore his hair a little long, but just enough, always immaculate. He had eyes that could melt anyone who dared hold his gaze for more than five seconds. It was obvious he worked out, because the fine fabric of his extremely expensive suits revealed sculpted legs, massive arms, and a completely flat stomach. The exact opposite of her immediate boss. And the bulge that sometimes showed in his trousers when he crossed his legs in meetings was another of her secret obsessions: it seemed to promise a long, thick cock, the kind that left a lasting impression.

They had crossed paths dozens of times in the parking lot, the elevator, and the common areas. But their relationship had never gone beyond the strictest cordiality: a polite greeting, some banal conversation about the weather or any other triviality. Marcela knew he was completely unattainable for her. He was outside her orbit, and that was why she didn’t get her hopes up, unlike her coworkers, more than one of whom dreamed of trapping him and securing her future.

She had her feet on the ground. She was content to enjoy the view whenever she saw him, and that was all. No one ever turns down a sweet treat. Her aspirations lay elsewhere, far from anything connected to the company she wanted to leave as soon as possible.

The decision was made. She would resign that very week. Friday was the last day of the month: they would give her paycheck and the envelope with her overtime pay, and as soon as she had it in her hand, she would leave. That same Friday, after also paying the final month’s rent to her unpleasant landlady, she would take her old battered car, its luggage already loaded onto the back seat, and head south in search of sunshine, a different climate, and new opportunities.

The week passed more slowly and miserably than ever. By Wednesday she was a nervous wreck and couldn’t wait to leave. She even came close to giving up the envelope just to avoid waiting until Friday, but thought better of it: that money was hers, and for two more days she would put up with anything. Even the sour faces of the coworkers she hated so much.

Friday finally arrived. Marcela got up with renewed optimism. After showering and having breakfast, she dressed much more casually and cheerfully than usual, loaded her few belongings into the car, and headed happily toward her last day at work.

Her enormous sense of responsibility wouldn’t let her relax. Others, knowing they wouldn’t be back on Monday, might have left things half-done for someone else to resolve, but she wasn’t like that. As long as she was there, she would do her job. That was why the morning flew by, and before she knew it, closing time was almost there.

She cleared her desk, checked the computer, saved her personal files to the cloud, and erased the rest of the hard drive. She wasn’t even planning to say goodbye to anyone. Her coworkers didn’t deserve it, and her immediate boss even less so. On Monday they would have to manage without her.

When she was already heading for the exit with her paycheck, envelope, and belongings, one last pang of remorse came over her. Damián, the manager and owner, didn’t deserve such a cold farewell, if only because of the respect with which he had always treated her. She changed her mind and headed toward his office, knowing he usually stayed late. She would thank him for the years of employment and tell him she was resigning.

She knocked twice with her knuckles and waited. When she received an answer, she opened the door slowly and, poking only her head inside, asked permission to enter.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Damián,” she greeted him timidly. “I’m sorry to bother you if you’re busy. May I have a minute?”

“Come in, Marcela!” he replied from behind his modernist desk. “And please, call me Damián. That ‘Mr.’ makes me sound old, and we’re both still young.”

Marcela was perplexed. Not only by his suggestion that they dispense with formalities, but because the damned handsome man had addressed her by name. He remembered her name. That really was strange in a company with more than two hundred women on the payroll and a boss who almost never left his office.

“Thank you,” she replied, stepping farther into the room.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating one of the two designer chairs in front of his desk.

Marcela sat upright, almost on the edge, with her knees together and her hands somewhat nervously in her lap.

“I’m listening,” Damián said. “How can I help you?”

A boss helping an employee? Marcela was becoming more astonished by the second. For a moment she reconsidered her decision to leave, knowing that the owner was so polite, respectful, and, above all, handsome. But no. The decision had been made, and there was no turning back.

“You see, Mr. Damián…” she began.

“Wait!” he interrupted, pointing at her. “If you call me ‘Mr. Damián’ one more time, you’re fired.”

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Well, you see… sorry, sorry! I meant ‘you’ll see.’ I’ve come precisely to see you… I mean, to see you informally!”

Damián looked somewhat thrown and arched one of his brown eyebrows.

“You’re abandoning us?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Marcela replied. “I’ve made some decisions lately, and one of them is to leave this job. I’m leaving the city to try my luck in the south, but I didn’t want to go without telling you and thanking you for all these years. I’m leaving on my trip right now. I just wanted you to know that I won’t be coming in on Monday. The company owes me nothing, and I don’t think I owe it anything either.”

Damián remained thoughtful for a few seconds, without taking his eyes off her.

“All right,” he said. “I can see this is a firm decision, and I doubt I could change your mind. I only hope it isn’t because you feel uncomfortable here, with your coworkers or any of your superiors.”

“No, no!” she lied. “It’s completely personal.”

“Very well,” he continued. “If you want me to sign a letter of recommendation or anything else, I’ll be happy to help. I have good references for you, and it’s the least I can do.”

“That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate it enormously,” Marcela replied. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Well,” Damián said, standing and offering her his hand to seal the end of their professional relationship, “I hope you find work soon and that things go very well for you in the south. If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

Marcela accepted his hand and, standing as well, shook it like someone who had just closed a deal.

“Thank you very much,” she replied. “It’s been a pleasure working for you.”

“You’re fired!” he nearly shouted, to Marcela’s surprise. “For calling me ‘you’ formally again.”

They both burst out laughing. Marcela turned toward the door to begin her new life from that very moment. She was glad she had decided to say goodbye in person. She had done the right thing.

***

She reached the door with a clear conscience. But then, with her hand already on the knob and the door partly open, something crossed her mind and made her close it again. She slid the bolt into place so no one could interrupt them. She turned around, walked back toward the desk, and instead of remaining in front of it as before, went around the furniture and stood face-to-face with her boss, who was still standing out of courtesy.

“Actually, there is something you can do for me,” Marcela said, addressing him informally now, in a much naughtier tone than the rest of the conversation. “Or rather, there’s something I can do—something I’ve wanted to do ever since the first day I saw you.”

Damián arched both eyebrows, utterly stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Before he could say anything, Marcela reached one hand to the bulge in his trousers and squeezed, confirming with a smile what she had been imagining for months: it was already beginning to swell, and it was thick, it was long, it was exactly as she had pictured it while masturbating alone on Saturday nights.

“Marcela…” he murmured, his voice thick. “What are you…?”

“Shhh,” she whispered, placing her index finger over his lips. “Be quiet and let me.”

She brought her hands to the buckle of his leather belt, undid it with astonishing skill, released the button on his trousers, and lowered the zipper. The fine, extremely expensive garment fell to his ankles under the weight of the phone and keys in his pockets. Beneath it, a pair of tight black briefs could barely contain the erection already growing fully against the fabric.

He was paralyzed by the actions of his former employee, but he let her do as she pleased. Marcela crouched, hooked her thumbs into the elastic, and pulled the briefs down until they joined the trousers. Damián’s cock sprang free, almost striking her in the face, and she let out a short sigh when she saw it up close. It was even better than she had imagined: long, thick, with heavy veins standing out along the shaft, the swollen, gleaming head already showing a little bead of pre-cum at the tip. His balls hung heavy, smooth, and freshly shaved. His whole body smelled of expensive soap and clean man.

She planted a quick kiss on his lips, slipped her tongue into his mouth for a second, and gently pushed him by the chest so he would sit in his leather chair. Once he was seated, she knelt on the floor in front of him and precisely worked the chair’s lever so that, under its owner’s weight, it descended to its lowest setting. She had him exactly as she wanted: naked from the waist down, seated, his knees spread wide, and a huge cock pointing toward the ceiling and waiting for her.

“Fuck, Damián,” she whispered, looking at it with shining eyes. “It’s beautiful. I’ve been imagining it for a year.”

He shuddered when he heard her speak that way. The shy, proper employee he saw in the elevator had vanished: now there was a female kneeling before him, mouth ajar and cheeks flushed, ready to devour him whole.

She didn’t hesitate. She gripped his cock with her right hand, squeezing it from the base so it would swell even more, and stuck out her tongue to lick the underside of the glans from bottom to top, very slowly, like someone savoring an ice cream. She gathered the bead of pre-cum with the tip of her tongue and tasted it, staring directly into his eyes. Then she kissed the wet head, opened her mouth wide, and took him in all at once, all the way down, until her nose sank into his flat stomach and she felt the tip of the glans brush her throat.

Damián let out a hoarse moan and dug his fingers into the leather of the chair. Marcela stayed that way for several seconds, voluntarily choking, letting saliva run from the corners of her mouth and soak his balls. When she pulled away to breathe, a strand of drool hung from her lip to his cock, and she smiled, proud of her own filthiness.

“You’ve got such a tasty cock, boss,” she told him in a guttural voice that wasn’t her own. “I’ve wanted to taste it since the first day.”

It was harder than any other cock she had ever had close to her, and impeccably clean. With her hands braced on his firm thighs—now she had no doubt that he worked out—she began sucking him hard, moving her head up and down. She sucked with her cheeks hollowed, pressing her lips against the shaft, letting the whole cock enter and leave her mouth with a wet, obscene sound that echoed through the silent office.

She wasn’t looking for a slow or sensual blowjob. She wasn’t going to waste minutes on foreplay or tease him little by little. She wanted only her own satisfaction, to fulfill the desire she had imagined so many times while watching him from afar at the office. She wanted to suck him like a slut, wanted to swallow that entire cock and feel it throb against her tongue. She wanted to leave satisfied.

She pulled it from her mouth for a moment and rubbed it across her face, her cheeks, and her lips, letting herself be marked by its wetness. She licked his balls one at a time, took them into her mouth in turns, tugging gently with her lips while stroking the shaft with her hand. Then she went back up, planted a kiss on the tip, and swallowed him to the bottom again, this time with even greater hunger.

“Fuck, Marcela…” he panted, throwing his head back. “You suck it so well, fuck…”

She didn’t answer him. Her mouth was too busy. She replied with her throat, letting him go even deeper, letting him see the tears forming in her eyes from the effort. With her free hand she slipped her fingers between her legs and under her skirt: she was soaked, her panties completely stuck to her pussy, her clitoris hard. She pressed herself there while continuing to suck, drawing muffled moans from herself that made his cock vibrate inside her mouth.

He surrendered to what she was giving him. He leaned farther back in his extremely expensive chair and gripped the wooden armrests anxiously. Marcela continued as deep as her throat allowed, gradually quickening the pace. Each thrust was faster, louder, more obscene. Saliva streamed down her chin, fell onto her breasts through her cleavage, and wet the man’s balls. The office smelled of sex, imminent cum, and a soaked pussy.

When she felt the end was near, she brought her left hand to his testicles while her right held the part that wouldn’t fit in her mouth, synchronizing the movements of her hand with those of her head. They were drawn tight, pulled up against his body: the unmistakable sign that he was about to come. She massaged them gently and squeezed him just beneath them, at the perineum, seeking the spot that drove men crazy.

“Marcela, stop… I’m going to…” Damián murmured in a broken voice, trying to warn her that he wouldn’t last much longer. He wanted to hold her head with his hands so she would stop; it seemed discourteous to finish that way.

But she didn’t care. She brushed his hands away with a gentle slap and returned to her place, determined. She pulled him out for an instant and fixed him with her eyes, her lips red and swollen and her mascara running.

“Come,” she ordered, almost whispering. “Come in my mouth, boss. I want to swallow every last drop.”

And she swallowed him whole again. This time desperately, sucking hard, moving her tongue around the glans each time she rose, stroking with her hand whatever wouldn’t fit inside her. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He let out a guttural moan, a nearly painful gasp, and exploded in her mouth.

The first jet struck her throat, thick and hot. Marcela tightened her lips and continued sucking until the end, as if trying to help him empty himself. She felt his cock contracting inside her mouth, pulsing each time another burst came. She swallowed everything without spilling a drop, feeling the salty taste run down her throat. When nothing more came out, she kept sucking slowly, milking him for the final drop, licking the tip with her tongue to clean it.

Only when everything was over and the stiffness collapsed did she slowly let go and open her mouth to show him it was empty. She stuck out her clean tongue, smiled at him, and knew that her job at the company had truly ended, literally and figuratively.

And she was happy. She had closed that chapter of her life and, along the way, indulged in the pleasure she had been imagining for months. A tasty cherry on top of so many years of frustration. She stood, licked her lips, wiped her damp chin with the back of her hand, fixed her hair, and adjusted her wrinkled skirt. She placed her hands over her boss’s, which still rested on the arms of the chair, and leaned toward him. She gave him a little kiss on the lips, letting him taste his own flavor.

“Thank you for everything,” she told him, looking into his still-dazed eyes. “You’ve been the best boss I’ve ever had.”

Damián took a while to find his voice. His breathing was still ragged, his cock dripped onto his stomach, the top of his shirt was unbuttoned, and his eyes were glassy. When he finally spoke, he smiled crookedly.

“You’re fired!” he said.

And Marcela walked out through that door laughing, her suitcases in the car, the taste of her boss still in her mouth, and her whole life ahead of her.