Story 17
Summary: 19 year old Jodie Rasmussen, studying for her BBA, snags a job as an executive assistant at a corporate finance company. When she shows up, she realizes that her boss is her father’s younger friend, 44 year old John Hutton, who hired her because he knew exactly who she was. Their relationship begins as purely professional, but he has far more in mind for her.
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John Hutton sat on the top floor of the Hutton work did not begin until nine, and his commute was only about a 20 minute drive. He decided to take a little extra time. He took the detachable shower head out of its holster, pointing it towards the drain. He turned on the cold water first and then the warm water, adjusting it until it was at the appropriate temperature. He followed his usual shower routine, up until he had to wash himself down below.
He squirted his Irish Spring body wash into his hand and lathered up around his shaft and balls, growing erect from the stimulation. He lathered up and down the shaft, pulling back the foreskin to scrub beneath it and around the glans. The shaft got harder and harder before he was fully erect. With a full erection, he had an eight and a half inch member with large balls that hung considerably low, as well as an above-average girth, about six inches in circumference. The skin matched his regular skin tone, but the glans was a light pink, about the same shade as his lips. He had satisfied many women with it over the years, often bringing home multiple women at a time after a night at a high-end nightclub after work on Fridays. In the past year alone, he had about 40 women in his bedroom. To maintain this sexual freedom, he had remained a bachelor.
He stroked up and down the shaft as the soap lathered. He started out slowly, savoring the heavy flow of precum lubricating his glans as his foreskin repeatedly slid over it. He held his scrotum in his left hand, gently massaging the testicles, as he slowly stroked up and down the shaft. He let out a low mixture of a moan and a growl, speeding up with the stroking. His foreskin caressed his glans over and over until his testicles warmed, with a tightening tingling feeling that grew and grew until his muscles contracted. He stroked as quickly as he could, huffing and puffing. The muscles in his buttocks contracted as he shot five thick ropes of cum onto the shower wall, moaning like an animal. He slowed down, pumping out as much as he could until the steady flow stopped. He took the shower head out of the holster and rinsed his cum off the wall and then the soap off of his penis. He squirted a touch more soap into his hand to scrub his legs and feet, rinsed off, and twisted the knobs to turn off the shower, carefully stepping out one foot at a time. He grabbed his towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist.
He picked his phone up off the bathroom counter. There were no notifications, so he set it back down and got to work drying and dressing himself. He rolled on his Old Spice deodorant and spritzed a touch of Yves-Saint-Laurent onto his left wrist, rubbing it into the opposite wrist and then rubbing both wrists on his neck. He quickly dressed in his button-down, necktie, slacks, and socks, saving the jacket for right before he left. He carefully went down the stairs one step at a time, reaching the kitchen and pressing “start” on the coffee maker. Every night before bed, he would put a filter with grounds in the coffee maker and fill the water reservoir to about a quarter of the way so he could enjoy at least two large mugs of coffee before work. The machine gurgled and began to percolate. You know what? I have time, he thought, getting a carton of eggs out of the fridge along with the half-gallon carton of milk.
He grabbed a pan out of the cabinet below the stove and turned the heat on, then grabbed a measuring cup out of the cupboard above. He cracked two eggs and poured half an ounce of milk into them, whisking them with a fork out of the silverware drawer. The pan began to heat up more and more on the “high” setting until he could pour the mixture into it. He stepped away to pour a cup of coffee, grabbing a mug out of the cupboard directly above the machine. He poured it about three-quarters of the way full and added the milk and sugar, stirring it carefully. He took one ginger sip before setting it down on the counter beside the stove and poking at the egg mixture in the pan with a spatula.
Before long, the eggs were sizzling away. He moved the heated parts away from the edges and into the center with the spatula. It only took about eight minutes for the eggs to be thoroughly cooked through. He grabbed a plate from an overhead cupboard and a fork from the drawer, scraping the eggs onto the plate with the spatula. He turned on the hot water and set down the pan and the spatula, as well as the measuring cup, and put a small drop of dish soap in each and filled them with hot water. He would take care of them after eating breakfast. He put a touch of salt and a few dribbles of ketchup on his eggs, grabbed his mug of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table.
His salary as the chief executive officer of the corporate finance business that his grandfather had founded in 1950 had given him far more resources than he needed. His home in Whitestone in Queens covered about 4,000 square feet, and his property covered the better part of an acre. It had originally been built in the 1950s and then was remodeled in the late 1990s, and then he moved into it from a one-bedroom apartment in Lenox Hill in 2006 after being promoted to CEO following his father’s early retirement. He had been the COO since he graduated in 1999 with his MBA in finance, earning well over half a million dollars per year. His home, which had four bedrooms and three bathrooms, was sold to him for about two million dollars. It was paid in one lump sum, to avoid a mortgage. He had lived there alone for 13 years.