Harlan Thorne

Introducing Harlan Thorne

The day was a slow crawl, as most days in my line of work tend to be. Usually, I yearn for the rare day that breaks this monotony. But today, my secretary was on vacation, and in her place, my girlfriend, Nicole, was filling in. Nicole, a nineteen-year-old with a ten-year age gap between us, is a sweet girl, but she's also a spoiled brat, the daughter of the wealthiest man in the state. She's only with me to spite her father, a former client of mine.

The problem with having her in the office is that she's utterly useless. She can't type, can't navigate a computer beyond checking celebrity gossip or updating her social media status. She refuses to answer the phone, and when she does, she can't take a message. Her skills are limited to opening emails, and even that's a stretch. She's a disaster as a receptionist, but there are perks to having her around.

First, Nicole's fashion sense is anything but professional. Today, she wore a sheer black top that left little to the imagination, paired with a matching black mini skirt that barely covered anything, and black stiletto sandals. Her black with pink polka-dot bra was visible, and the straps of her matching g-string peeked out from her skirt. Her lipstick matched the polka-dots, completing the ensemble.

The second perk is that a slow day means we can take advantage of the privacy. I called Nicole into my office, intending to ask about missed calls, but she had other plans. She sat on my lap, her voice dripping with desire as she asked, "Wanna fuck around?"

I kissed her, my hands finding her perfectly shaped breasts. I sent her to the couch, instructing her to spread her legs wide. Her excitement was evident as her nipples strained against her bra. I lifted her skirt, revealing her matching g-string, and fingered her until she was ready.

"Oh yeah, baby. That's it. Faster, finger my pussy. Get me ready for your big hard dick," she moaned, her dirty talk lacking finesse but her orgasm more than making up for it.

When she came, I replaced my fingers with my hardened member, knowing she preferred to be penetrated during her orgasm. She arched her back, and I removed her top and bra, and began to flick my tongue around her pink nipples hardened under my ministrations as I plunged myself deeper into her. Her responses were wild, her hips bucking against me as she cried out, "Oh my fucking God."

I could feel my own climax approaching and knew her orgasm would push me over the edge. She wasn't on the pill and preferred the "pull out" method. As she came again, I felt my release. The first shot landed inside her, then I pulled out, sending the rest across her stomach and breasts.

As her orgasm subsided, I began to dress. The outer door opened, and I thought, "Shit." I finished putting on my shirt and told her to hurry out. Nicole threw on her clothes and left the office. As the door shut behind her, I heard, "What the fuck?"

The outer office was packed. A large bald black man in a dark suit and darker glasses stood by the door, his expression blank. Three other men in business suits were crammed in the corner, two on cell phones, possibly talking to each other, while the third cowered with a bloody lip.

A Hispanic girl of about 20 stood in the center, wearing blue jean pants and a tight Mighty Ducks jersey. Her voluptuous body made the jersey look even more appealing. She stepped forward and said, "Detective Harlan Thorne, I would like to hire you."