My Secretary Closed the Deal on Her Knees

The thirty-eighth-floor boardroom smelled of expensive leather, freshly brewed coffee, and tension. I was sitting at the head of the walnut table, wearing a charcoal-gray suit and a neatly knotted blue tie, but inside I was an absolute wreck. I had barely slept in three days.

That contract with Blackwood & Pembroke meant nine million euros for the firm. Or it meant losing every last cent if the Englishmen decided to play hardball.

And the Englishmen were playing hardball.

To my right sat Edward Blackwood, almost seventy years old, with a great many kilos stuffed into a tailored suit that was two sizes too small for him. His belly hung over his belt. His face was red and webbed with tiny veins, his double chin trembled when he spoke, and his small, watery eyes never stopped moving. Every time he leaned toward me, waves of stale sweat mixed with expensive cologne and an extinguished cigar reached my nose.

To his left was Gerald Pembroke, similar in bulk but shorter. Shiny bald head, badly trimmed gray mustache, yellowish teeth. He was sweating so much that there were two dark rings beneath the arms of his shirt, despite the air-conditioning being set to twenty degrees. Whenever he laughed—and he laughed often—his belly jiggled like gelatin.

And both of them, without the slightest attempt at discretion, stared down Lucía’s blouse every time she leaned over to hand them a document or point something out on the screen.

Lucía was impeccable, as always. Her red hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she wore a white silk blouse with two buttons undone, along with a black pencil skirt that outlined her hips and round ass. She had sat beside me and was taking notes on her tablet with the absolute calm she maintained even when the world was falling apart.

The meeting had been going on for forty minutes, and we were already teetering on the edge of the abyss.

“Mr. Romero,” Blackwood said in his pronounced accent, pointing a thick, ring-covered finger at me, “your proposed profit split is… generous. But we want twenty-six percent, not eighteen. And we want a preferential exit clause if things go wrong over the next eighteen months.”

Pembroke nodded, his double chin trembling.

“Exactly. And if you don’t accept, we’ll go to another firm. There are plenty of lawyers in Barcelona, you know.”

The atmosphere grew heavy. I tried to keep my voice steady, but I could feel my tie tightening around my neck. Nerves were eating me alive. I knew that if we lost that contract, the partners would crucify me at the first meeting on Monday.

Think of something. Think of something fast.

Lucía, who until then had only spoken to clarify figures, closed her tablet with a soft click and looked up. Her green eyes moved first to Blackwood, then to Pembroke, and finally settled on me for a moment. Then she turned back to the two Englishmen.

“Gentlemen,” she said in that calm, almost friendly voice—the same one she used when she brought me coffee every morning—“I understand your position perfectly. You want a larger percentage and more security. That’s logical. But it’s also logical that we can’t give up so much without receiving something in return.”

Blackwood raised an eyebrow.

“And what exactly are you offering us, Miss…?”

“Lucía. You can call me by my first name.” She smiled with impeccable courtesy. “What I’m offering you is something I know you both value far more than a couple of percentage points.”

She stood up without hurry. She walked around the table with steady steps, positioned herself between the two Englishmen, and, with a calmness that left me breathless, undid the two remaining buttons on her blouse. The silk opened, revealing the black lace bra supporting her large, firm tits.

She lowered it herself with her thumbs, without ceremony. Her pink nipples were exposed beneath the boardroom’s cold lighting, hardening at once. I knew every inch of that skin from imagining it a thousand times, and seeing her like that, in front of those two old men, left my throat dry and my cock hard against my zipper.

The two Englishmen were petrified. Blackwood opened his mouth, and something resembling a growl escaped him. Pembroke leaned forward, his belly colliding with the edge of the table, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

Lucía looked at both of them with complete naturalness, as if she had just projected another slide.

“You can look. And you can touch, and suck, and put whatever you want wherever you want, if that’s what it takes to close the deal today,” she said in the same voice she used to explain clauses. “In exchange for eighteen percent and your signatures this afternoon. No exit clause.”

The silence lasted three endless seconds.

Then Blackwood let out a hoarse laugh and said something in English I didn’t understand, without taking his eyes off her tits.

Pembroke already had one broad, trembling hand extended, gripping an entire breast with short, sweaty fingers. He squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, carefully at first and then without any care at all, and she didn’t even flinch. She simply turned toward the other man.

“You too, Mr. Blackwood?”

The man nodded like a child, swallowing hard. His other hand had already gone to his trousers, squeezing the bulge through the fabric. He stretched out his paw and grabbed Lucía’s other tit with the brutality of someone who hadn’t touched one in years. He weighed it, squeezed it, bent down, and took her entire nipple into his mouth. He began sucking noisily, his double chin trembling against her breast, while Pembroke did the same to the other side.

Lucía smiled with that professional half-smile that had always driven me crazy, and placed one hand on each of their necks, gently pushing their heads against her tits as if helping them concentrate on the meeting.

“Well, let’s relax a little,” she said softly, “and that way we can narrow our differences. How does that sound?”

The two old men growled against her skin, sucking and drooling like pigs. Blackwood bit her nipple, and she didn’t even blink. Pembroke covered her entire breast in saliva, dragging his sweaty mustache over the white flesh, then lowered his hand along her side and slipped it beneath the pencil skirt.

“No panties,” the Englishman murmured in astonishment when his thick fingers found bare skin.

“No panties,” Lucía confirmed, without moving a muscle in her face. “I came prepared to negotiate.”

I swallowed hard. She didn’t even look at me. Pembroke already had two fingers inside her pussy, moving them clumsily, while Blackwood continued devouring her breast as if it were the last meal of his life.

***

She knelt between them with the same elegance she would have used to pick up a pen from the floor. Her skirt rode up to the curve of her hips, and her red-haired bun came level with their two fly fronts.

With her hands, one for each of them, she unbuckled their belts and lowered their zippers with the precision she applied to everything she did. She slipped her fingers inside their underwear and pulled out both cocks at once, one in each hand, as if presenting two exhibits in court.

I remained nailed to my chair, unable to move, unable to say anything. I knew I should stop it. I didn’t. I unbuttoned my trousers beneath the table and gripped my hard cock, drenched in a cold sweat, with a mixture of shame and arousal boiling inside me.

She started with Blackwood. He had a short, very thick cock, with a wrinkled foreskin and an old-man smell that reached me where I sat. Lucía looked at it for a second, tightened her fist around the base to pull the skin down, and let a long strand of saliva fall from above, slowly, like someone checking a detail in a document before signing it. The saliva slid over his purple glans and soaked his hairy balls.

“Well,” she commented in an almost approving tone. “Very British. Very direct.”

She took half of it into her mouth, closed her lips, and sucked with a slow pull that hollowed her cheeks. She withdrew it with a wet pop, spat more saliva onto the glans, and swallowed it again, this time taking him all the way down until her nose pressed into the Englishman’s gray-haired pubic hair. Blackwood let out a howl and put both hands on her head, undoing her bun with one yank.

Her red hair fell down her back and across her face. Lucía continued without pulling away, her green eyes fixed on him, holding his cock in her throat until a strand of drool hung from her chin to her bare chest.

Then she turned to Pembroke and did the same, without changing her expression or wrinkling her nose. The second Englishman’s cock was longer and thinner, with prominent veins and a huge mushroom head. She took that one whole too, all the way down, with the same professionalism she applied to everything. She handled both of them with a surgeon’s coldness that was more obscene than any moan.

“Both at once,” she murmured, more to herself than to them, pulling Pembroke’s cock from her mouth with her cheek shining with saliva. “That way we’ll finish sooner and can sign in peace.”

And she really got started.

It was the most calculated and dirtiest thing I had ever seen in my life. With her left hand she jerked Blackwood off, twisting her wrist whenever she reached the top and rolling her palm over his glans. With her right she did the same to Pembroke, up and down, keeping a constant, firm rhythm. But she saved her mouth for alternating between the two.

She took Blackwood all the way down in one slow movement. Her neck stood out, and the veins in her throat swelled. She held him there for several seconds, saliva streaming down her chin and onto her tits, before coming back up with a wet sucking sound. Then she let his cock slide across her cheek, once, twice, looking him straight in the eyes.

“That’s how I like it,” she said, spitting a wad of saliva onto his glans and spreading it with her tongue. “Make them feel welcome.”

She turned to Pembroke and repeated the operation. Deep, noisy, with controlled gags that made her press her lips against the old man’s pubic mound. She never lost that expression of “I’m doing my job, and I’m doing it well.” When she released him, she traced him from base to tip with her flat tongue, slowly, circling the glans as if savoring the victory we still hadn’t signed. She took one ball into her mouth, then the other, and came back up sucking noisily.

The two Englishmen were in a trance. Blackwood’s eyes were half-closed, and he was grunting, his bald head beaded with sweat. Pembroke was panting, his belly rising and falling violently, clutching the armrests as if afraid he might fall.

Lucía kept alternating. She attended to one with her mouth while setting the pace with her hand on the other. Then she switched. She rubbed her tits against both hairy thighs, let saliva run down her skin and wet her nipples, and between one man and the other she lifted her eyes to them, those calm green eyes, as if waiting for an answer to a business question.

With her free hand she spread her thighs and began touching her pussy in front of them without stopping her sucking. She slipped two fingers inside herself and kept up the rhythm, sucking and masturbating at the same time, and still her voice came out steady when she spoke.

“Mr. Pembroke,” she said, her voice muffled by the cock in her mouth, “do you accept eighteen percent?”

She pulled off with a sticky sound so she could hear his answer clearly.

“Fuck… yes…” he grunted, clinging to the chair, his cock gleaming with drool and trembling in front of her face. “Whatever you want, you slut…”

“And you, Mr. Blackwood?” she continued, switching mouths without missing a movement of her hand. “Will you sign today? With no exit clause?”

She swallowed the old man’s cock down to her throat and held it there, waiting for his answer.

“I’ll sign… anything… Christ… don’t stop…” the other man stammered, drenched in sweat, the veins in his neck on the verge of bursting.

Lucía popped the cock from her mouth and smiled with gleaming lips, her white teeth stained with thick saliva.

“Perfect.”

***

She sped up a little, but never lost control. She moved from one cock to the other like someone tasting two different wines to decide which one to serve first. She brushed them with her cheek, rubbed them against her tits, let her saliva soak everything, and every so often she murmured a comment that drove them completely insane.

“You’ve got such a thick one, Mr. Blackwood… yes, push my head, push it hard…”

“Come in my mouth whenever you want, Mr. Pembroke. Don’t hold back on my account…”

She pressed both cocks together, one against the other, and sucked them at the same time, running her tongue from one glans to the other, saliva everywhere, shining threads falling from her chin onto her chest. She pressed both mushroom heads against her nipples and rubbed them there, moaning for the first time throughout the entire scene, a low, hoarse moan that escaped her without permission.

Blackwood was first. He grabbed her head with both hands, drove it against his pubic mound, and released an animal growl. Lucía felt the first wave strike the roof of her mouth and didn’t pull away: she continued with her hand until the end, swallowing what she could and letting the rest spill from the corner of her mouth in thick streams over her tits. When she pulled his cock out, it was still dripping, and she cleaned the last thread with her tongue without changing expression.

“Very generous,” she murmured, her mouth still full of British semen. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood.”

Pembroke held out for a few seconds longer. When his turn came, he told her between pants, “On my face, slut, on my face,” and Lucía obeyed as if he had asked her for coffee. She moved back just far enough, continued jerking him off with her hand, and closed her eyes. The old man came in thick streams across her forehead, nose, lips, and chin. Hot spurts streaked across her red-haired face from one side to the other. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, collecting the last spurts on her teeth, without stopping her hand until Pembroke let out a whimper and collapsed into the chair.

The two Englishmen lay sprawled out, panting, their faces red and sweaty, their shrunken, gleaming cocks hanging out of their open trousers. Blackwood’s eyes were glassy. Pembroke was smiling like a happy idiot, his mouth hanging open.

Lucía wiped herself with the back of her hand as if removing a crumb from the corner of her mouth. She ran her thumb over her cheekbones, gathered the semen running down her jaw, and sucked it from her finger, swallowing with a professional gesture. With a towel she took from the inner pocket of her jacket, she dried her tits and face efficiently, without ceremony.

She rose elegantly. She readjusted her bra and blouse with all the calm in the world, buttoning them one by one. Her skin disappeared beneath the white silk. She gathered her red hair with two flicks of her wrist and restored it to the tight bun she’d worn before, as if she had just gone to the restroom. She ran her fingers over her swollen lips and looked at the two men.

“So… shall we sign?”

Blackwood nodded, still speechless. Pembroke reached for the papers with his cock still hanging outside his trousers.

Lucía gathered the documents, set them in front of the men, and handed them the fountain pen I always used for important contracts.

“Eighteen percent, with no exit clause,” she recited, pointing to the line with her fingernail. “Here and here, please.”

They both signed with trembling hands, one after the other.

“Welcome to the firm, gentlemen,” she said, gathering the copies. “It’s been a pleasure closing this deal with you.”

She turned around and looked at me for a second—green eyes, imperturbable expression, as if nothing had happened—then dropped her gaze briefly to my open fly, to the cock I was still holding beneath the table. She gave me the faintest smile.

“I’m going to get a bottle of cava to celebrate, boss. Do you need anything else?”

And she left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving the two Englishmen exhausted, their cocks out and their shirts stained, and me sitting there with my heart racing, the signed contract in my hands, my cock dripping onto my trousers, and a slow smile spreading across my face.

***

The rest of the afternoon passed like a strange dream. The partners congratulated me by phone. Nine million closed at eighteen percent with no exit clause, they said, was a textbook negotiation. They asked how I had managed it. I told them it had been a matter of patience and knowing how to wait for the right moment.

I wasn’t entirely lying.

After the Englishmen left, carrying their folders and offering handshakes that lasted far too long, I stayed alone in my office, staring out the window at the city lights. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to feel. All I knew was that I had worked side by side with Lucía for three years, and I never would have imagined what she was capable of.

She came in without knocking, as always, carrying two glasses and the already-open bottle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told her, and my voice came out rougher than I intended.

“I know.” She filled the glasses and handed me one. “But I know you, boss. You hadn’t slept in three days. You were going to lose the contract and go under with it. And that wouldn’t have been good for me.” She gave me a sidelong smile. “I like my job.”

“Was it only about your job?”

She held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Long enough. She set her glass on the desk, walked around it, and sat astride my thighs, her pencil skirt pulled up to her waist and her naked pussy pressed against my fly. She found my cock with her hand, pulled it out, and guided it to her entrance, still wet from touching herself earlier.

She lowered herself slowly, all the way down, eyes closed, releasing a long sigh from deep inside her.

“This,” she said, beginning to move on top of me while squeezing my neck with both hands, “is what I was saving for you, boss.”

I grabbed her ass beneath her skirt and set the pace. I fucked her sitting down, with her on top, her blouse undone once again, her tits bouncing against my face. I kissed her for the first time in three years, and she tasted of English semen and cava, and I didn’t care. She came, squeezing my cock with spasms and biting my lip, and I emptied myself inside her with my mouth pressed to her neck, grunting like an animal.

She remained on top of me for a while longer, breathing hard, her hair mussed for the second time that afternoon. Then she slowly straightened up, let my semen run down her thigh, and wiped it away with two fingers, which she slipped into her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

“The next negotiation,” she said, lowering her skirt, “we’ll close the same way.”

We toasted in silence. And as I watched her drink, her hair still slightly disheveled and that icy calm that never left her, I knew two things with absolute certainty.

First, that woman was worth every euro of her salary, and many more besides.

Second, I would never look at her the same way again when she brought me coffee in the morning.