My Boss Seduced Me the Night of the Report

My body has opened many doors for me over the years. Some I wanted, others simply appeared. That’s how I ended up working at one of the most influential consulting firms in Buenos Aires, holding the position of personal assistant to a director I’ll call Beatriz here.

Beatriz was fifty-two, though you could rarely tell. She was tall, olive-skinned, with green eyes that turned almost gray when she focused on a report. She wore her hair short, dyed chestnut with reddish highlights, and dressed in tailored suits that outlined a figure she clearly maintained at the gym. She had two grown children and an entrepreneur husband she only saw on weekends, when they both felt like it, which wasn’t always the case either.

My first months with her were brutal. Beatriz left the office at three in the afternoon, but I stayed until ten preparing folders, schedules, and minutes for the next day. I put up with it without complaint. I knew that two years with her on my résumé would open any door in the market.

Over time we grew closer. She began telling me things no boss ever tells an assistant: fights with her husband, affairs she’d had with colleagues during conferences, men who had declared themselves to her over business lunches. I listened without passing judgment. It was part of the job, though I was also beginning to enjoy it more than I should have.

One night in October last year, she invited me to her house for the first time. She lived in a duplex in Palermo overlooking the park, all white, minimalist, expensive. We had to finish a report for a huge bid that the board president wanted ready first thing Monday morning. We ordered sushi, opened a bottle of white wine, and sat in the living room with our laptops on the coffee table.

—I’m exhausted, Renata —she told me after an hour of reviewing numbers—. This project is killing me.

—Relax, we’ll finish it tonight. That’s what I’m here for.

—You’re too efficient for your own good. And too pretty, too.

The compliment made me look up from the screen. Beatriz was watching me with a smile I’d never seen before. I held her gaze a second longer than necessary and went back to the report without saying anything, though something inside me had already shifted.

We kept working until she slammed her laptop shut.

—I need a break. There’s whiskey in the cabinet on the left. Bring the bottle and two glasses.

I obeyed without a word. When I came back to the living room, Beatriz had taken off her shoes and was stretched out on the sofa with her feet on a cushion. Her bare legs were long, perfect. I poured the whiskey and sat at the other end of the couch.

—Let’s toast —she said, raising her glass—. To the women who hold up other women.

—To that —I answered, clinking my glass against hers.

We drank in silence. Beatriz stretched her feet out until they rested on my thighs. It was too familiar, too intimate a gesture, but I didn’t move them away. I took off my heels too and let them fall to the floor.

—I’d give anything for a massage right now —she murmured.

—I can give you one. I worked at a spa years ago; I know how to do it.

—Really? Aren’t I taking advantage of you?

—Not at all.

I went to the kitchen, found an almond oil she kept on the counter, and came back to the sofa. I placed her feet on my lap, poured a few drops of oil, and started working from her toes to her heel, pressing with my thumbs into every knot of tension. Beatriz closed her eyes and let out a long, rough sigh.

—Oh, my God. You have angel’s hands.

I kept going slowly, massaging her ankles, her calves. Her skin was warm and soft, and I could feel my pulse quickening for no apparent reason. Or yes: the reason was perfectly obvious, I just preferred not to name it yet.

—Can I ask you something? —she said suddenly, her eyes still closed.

—Whatever you want.

—Have you ever been with a woman?

The question made my hands stop for a second. I looked up. Beatriz was watching me now, with that same smile from before but longer, more certain.

—Yes. A couple of times. In college.

—I knew it. There’s something in the way you look.

—And you?

—I’m fifty-two, darling. I’ve had time for everything.

I laughed nervously. She slowly sat up, without taking her feet off my lap, and moved closer until her face was inches from mine. I could feel her breath between my lips.

—Want to find out whether what they say about me is true?

I didn’t get to answer. She kissed me.

***

The first kiss was slow, almost a question. Her lips were softer than I’d expected, and they tasted of whiskey and something sweet I couldn’t identify. When she understood that I wasn’t pulling away, she deepened it. She slid her tongue into my mouth without asking permission, searching for mine, and her hand rose to the back of my neck and held me there with a firmness that made it clear who was in charge. Her other hand was already squeezing one of my breasts over my blouse, without any delicacy, like someone claiming what she knew was hers.

She pushed me off the couch until I was sitting on the rug. She knelt in front of me and pulled my shirt over my head. My nipples were hard before her fingers even touched them, pressing against the lace of my bra.

—I’ve been watching you for months —she murmured against my neck—. You come to the office in those blouses that fit you tight, and I can’t concentrate in meetings. I imagine how I should fuck you on top of my desk.

—If you’d said it before…

—I didn’t want to ruin our work relationship. But tonight I don’t give a shit.

She kissed my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone. She yanked my bra down and licked my nipples one by one, calmly, like a woman in no hurry, sucking them until they were red and sore. She nipped them lightly, tugged with her teeth, and I felt every bite go straight to my cunt. I dug my fingers into her hair and asked for more without needing to speak. She slid one hand down my stomach, unbuttoned my pants, and slipped her fingers under my panties. When she found out how wet I was, she laughed softly against my ear.

—Look at you, Renata. Dripping. And I haven’t even started yet.

—Let’s go to my room —she said suddenly, pulling her hand away, standing up, and taking me by the hand.

I followed her barefoot down the hallway, my pants still half down and my bra hanging from one strap. In the bedroom there was a huge bed with gray sheets and a floor lamp giving off just enough light. Beatriz pulled her dress over her head in one motion. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her body was that of a woman who had taken care of herself but had also lived: wide hips, full heavy breasts with dark nipples already hard, the pubic hair neatly removed, revealing the swollen, glossy lips of her cunt. She had a small scar on her stomach that I didn’t bother asking about.

She finished undressing me with a tug and pushed me onto the bed. She sat astride me, rubbing her wet cunt against my stomach, and I felt the heat and moisture marking my skin. She started with my feet, kissing them, licking them, moving up by gently biting the inner thighs. She spread my legs with a slap, without asking permission, and looked at everything, exposed like never before.

—What a pretty cunt you have —she said, running one whole finger through my slit from bottom to top, not sliding it in, just parting my lips—. Pink, tight. I’m going to eat you until you ask me to stop.

When she reached my sex, she stayed there, looking up at me as if she were asking permission only with her eyes.

—Do it —I told her, my voice rough—. Lick me.

She launched herself at it as if given an order. Her tongue was precise, expert. She opened my lips with two fingers and ran the tip of her tongue straight over my clit, first in slow circles, then faster, harder. She knew where to insist, when to ease up, when to come back. She sucked and let go, sucked and let go, while I felt everything gathering low in my belly. Then she lowered her mouth to my cunt’s opening and pushed her tongue inside me, fucking me with it, going in and out while her thumb kept working my clit.

—Holy fucking shit… —I gasped—. Beatriz, like that, don’t stop.

She shoved two fingers into me at once and curled them upward, searching for that spot no man had ever found in me. When she hit it, I jerked. She started moving them fast, in and out, while still sucking my clit with hunger. I gripped the sheets because I had nothing else to hold on to. I could feel the leather scrape of her tongue, her fingers opening me, the obscene wet sound of her mouth working my soaked cunt. In less than five minutes I was already on the edge.

—Beatriz, I’m going to… I’m going to come…

—Come on, my love. Come in my mouth. Give me everything.

I came with a cry that probably could be heard all the way down the hallway. My whole body tensed, my back arched, and I felt my cunt clench around her fingers again and again. She didn’t let me go. She kept sucking and moving her fingers until the last tremor passed through me, and until a second spasm, smaller but deeper, hit me again. Then she came up to kiss me with my own taste still in her mouth, her chin shining. She slipped me her tongue and made me taste myself. No one had ever done that to me before, and I discovered I liked it more than I would admit out loud.

—Your turn —she told me, lying back beside me and opening her legs shamelessly—. Come on, I want to see what you can do.

I went down her body, learning every inch. I kissed her breasts, sucked them one by one, tugging at her dark nipples with my lips until I heard her moan. I bit her sides, ran my tongue over her navel, trailed a line of saliva down to her pubis. When I reached between her legs, she was already completely soaked. The smell of a mature woman’s cunt, dense and sweet, hit me full force and I wanted to bury my face there and never come out.

I parted her lips with my fingers. They were plump, darker than mine, and her clit was sticking out, big and swollen, begging for a mouth. I tasted her calmly, with the same calm she’d had with me. I ran my whole tongue, flat, from bottom to top, and felt her shudder. Then I circled her clit with the tip of my tongue until I saw her arch her back against the mattress.

—That’s it, Renata. Right there. Don’t stop, bitch, keep going.

I slipped two fingers inside her and started moving them to the rhythm of my tongue. She was so wet my fingers slid in and out with a liquid sound. I added a third and she moaned louder, with a deep voice I’d never heard in the office. I curled my fingers the same way she had done to me, searching for the spot, and when I found it she started moving her hips against my face, fucking my mouth without a shred of shame.

—Suck it hard, my love. Eat me up. Make me come in your mouth.

I did as she said. I sucked her clit with my whole mouth, drawing it in, while the three fingers went in and out to the rhythm she set with her hips. When she came, she pressed my head against her so hard I thought I might suffocate. I felt her cunt clench around my fingers, felt her come drip down my chin, felt her shaking all over. I didn’t care. I stayed there, sucking her slowly, while she ran her fingers through my hair with a lost smile.

We ended up both sprawled on the bed, sweaty, laughing like teenagers who had just gotten away with something.

—Tomorrow you’re my assistant again —she said, still out of breath.

—Tomorrow, yes. Tonight, no.

Before we fell asleep she rode me once more, pressing her cunt against mine, and we made ourselves come like that, grinding together, our mouths locked and our nipples brushing, until we both fell apart again over the gray sheets.

***

From that night on, everything changed. At the office we were still Renata and Director Beatriz, formal, professional, impeccable. But three times a week I stayed to “work” at her house late into the night. My boyfriend at the time thought I was finishing bids. In a way that was true: only the bid was a different one.

Beatriz taught me things no girl my age knew. She taught me to take my time, to read another woman’s body like a map, not to be ashamed to ask for what I wanted. She taught me how to use her toys: a harness with a silicone cock she fucked me with face-down until I begged her to stop, a Japanese vibrator she pressed to my clit until I came three times in a row, Chinese ben-wa balls she’d put in me before going out to dinner and that made me walk with my legs clenched all night. I think I came to love her, though I always knew what we had had an expiration date.

What I didn’t calculate was how it would end.

It was an ordinary Tuesday. We’d arranged to have dinner at her house because her husband was in Punta del Este for a meeting and her children, according to her, lived in their own world. The youngest studied architecture and barely ever showed up at the family house. The other, a lawyer at a firm downtown, didn’t either.

After dinner we ended up in the kitchen, her seated on the central island with her skirt hitched up to her waist, no panties on, and me kneeling between her open legs. I’d told her that night I wanted to give her an unforgettable ending, and I was taking my time. I was licking her cunt slowly, sucking her swollen clit, slipping two fingers in and out of her at an easy pace while she writhed on the cold marble. Beatriz had her head thrown back, eyes closed, hands tangled in my hair, pushing me against her sex.

—Like that, my love. More. Put it in all the way. Don’t stop, please.

—I love your taste —I said without lifting my head, my lips pressed to hers, breathing her cunt—. I could stay here all night sucking you.

I added a third finger and she gasped. She was right there. I could feel her legs trembling on either side of my face, her thighs squeezing my ears, her cunt clenching around my fingers.

—Renata, I’m going to… I’m coming, I’m coming…

She didn’t finish the sentence. A voice from the kitchen door cut her off sharply:

—What the fuck is going on here?

Beatriz opened her eyes and froze, with her legs still open and my hand still between them. I slowly turned my head, still kneeling between her legs, my mouth shining, and saw her eldest son standing in the doorway with a backpack in his hand and an expression I’ll never forget.

—My son… —she managed to say.

The rest is another story. And I’m not sure yet I want to tell it.