The HJO Company 1:The Office Visit
By: Date: 2023.06.07. Categories: Sex Stories Tags: , , , , , ,

“I agree with what Clinton said,” Joey said smugly. “It’s not sex when it
doesn’t penetrate.”

“He penetrated her mouth,” I pointed out. “Several times, I understand.”

“No,” Joey corrected. “She sucked him. That’s different.”

“Still unfaithful.”

“So, when you jerk off, you’re unfaithful to your old lady?”

“Of course not.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Another person!” I said, exasperated. “There’s another person involved.”

Joey waved me away. “Details. Details. Anyway, it spices your sex life up.
Here,” he said as he casually tossed me a business card. “You don’t have to
use it,” he said as I gingerly picked it up and examined it.

It was a simple white card with ‘The HJO Company embossed on it. Emily
Parkhurst, Client relations Director was also printed on the card, along
with one telephone number.

“The HJO Company? What’s that?”

“Hand Jobs Only,” Joey said, laughing. “Try it. Since you’ve been having
troubles at home you’ve been a real pain in the ass.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Anyway, try her. It’s one of the many
things I’ve learned to enjoy in London.” He smiled in that arrogant American
way and walked out of the office.

I stared at the card for a long time until I slid it into my wallet. “Ruth,”
I said into the intercom, “I’m ready for my next appointment.”

The card remained in my wallet for several weeks and Joey didn’t mention it
again, not even when we endured the obligatory farewell lunch the day before
his flight back to the States.

Early one morning, I withdrew the card and with heart pounding, I dialled
the number.

“Hello?” A mellow female ladies voice answered. “The HJO Company. Emily
Parkhurst speaking.”

“Miss Parkhurst,” I began nervously. “A friend gave me your card and I
wondered if….” I cleared my throat as I fumbled for the right words.

“Your name?” she said coolly.

“Michael Port,” I rushed, my hands clammy around the telephone as I
nervously watched the door. I didn’t want Ruth walking in.

“Michael,” she said warmly. “How nice. I have some time free this afternoon.
A thirty-minute appointment is usually sufficient for our first visit. Your
address?” I told her and she went on to calmly tell me to have her fee
available at the visit. “What is your secretary’s name?” she suddenly asked.

“Ruth,” I mumbled.

“I shall call Ruth and arrange a time this afternoon.”

“What?” I exclaimed in panic. “Call her? What will you tell her?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something. Good morning, Michael.” The phone went dead
and I slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle as I guiltily looked around
my empty office.

Ruth entered the office sometime later with a cup of coffee and some papers.
“Good morning, Ruth,” I said as calmly as I could. “Anything new for the
day?”

She shook her head and I felt disappointed. “No Mr Port. The same
appointments as I outlined last evening. Is there anything you need before
your nine o’clock?” I shook my head and she left, leaving me with my
disappointment.

The morning rushed by, my early morning telephone call forgotten and I soon
found myself putting my coat on for lunch. “I’ll be forty five minutes,
Ruth,” I said as I walked past her desk.

“Mr Port,” she called. “I’ve squeezed a new client in at half past two.”

I stopped dead, my heart pounding. “A new client?” I asked as calmly as I
could.

Ruth consulted her notes. “A Miss Parkhurst. A business matter.”

My stomach flipped over a few times. “Thank you Ruth,” I squeaked, cleared
my throat and walked to the lift.

Nervously, I sat in my office and pretended to work while waiting for the
clock to reach half past two. Finally, a discreet tap on the door and Ruth
entered. “Miss Parkhurst is here, Mr Port.”

Abruptly, I stood, knocking the chair back and causing Ruth to look at me
strangely. “Show her in, Ruth,” I said quickly.

A tall elegant woman in a conservative business suit entered. She had dark
hair, expensive jewellery, a slim briefcase and I guessed she was about
thirty or so which made her twelve years younger than me.

“Michael,” she said in a low husky voice as she smiled, extending her hand
as the door closed behind her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” I said shyly, my heart pounding.

She looked around the office and moved towards my small conference table.
“Why don’t you take your jacket off?” she said, sitting at the table, long
legs crossing with a rasp of black nylon.” She patted the chair next to her.
“Sit here, Michael,” she said, smiling at me. “Don’t be nervous. You have my
fee?”

Nodding, I placed my jacket on my desk and handed her the envelope. “Are you
married, Michael?”

I nodded. “My wife doesn’t….”

“Understand you?” she finished, a small scornful smile on her face.

I shook my head. “No, she doesn’t love me any more,” I said in a small voice
as I sat next to her.

“I’m sorry.” She took a small hand towel from the briefcase. “Here. Our
introductory gift for first time clients.”

My hands trembled as I examined the towel. I noticed the HJO Company logo
was embroidered on the corner. “It’s to stop your trousers getting messy.
Undo your pants and spread the towel over your lap.” Gulping, I unzipped my
trousers and slid them down a little, spreading the towel over my lap. I
felt aroused seated next to this woman with my cock bulging in my
underpants. “Pull your underpants down, Michael,” she said softly and my
cock popped into view.

“Good,” she said and I felt her warm fingers encircle my cock as her perfume
washed over me. “Nice and slow,” she said as her hand moved slowly, stroking
my cock into hardness. “I hope Ruth doesn’t pop in with an urgent message,”
she said mischievously and I gasped.

“No,” I mumbled, watching her long fingers move around my throbbing cock.

“Now,” she said staring into my eyes as her fingers continued. “Some rules.
I can’t abide my clients touching me and it’s definitely not in our
contract. Now, I haven’t learned to read your little signs yet,” and her
eyes twinkled as a low moan escaped my lips. “So you must tell me when you
are getting close. No touching and you must tell me. Acceptable?”

“Yes, Emily,” I murmured, gasping as her fingers drove me to the edge.
“Now,” I gasped and her fingers disappeared, leaving my swollen cock jerking
wildly above the white towel.

We both stared down at my pulsing cock. “You obviously haven’t been active
for a while,” she said with a little giggle. “Almost happened then without
any effort.” She looked up and I felt drawn into her dark eyes. “Now, my
dear. You nearly didn’t tell me early enough. And simply saying ‘now’ is not
acceptable either. Miss Parkhurst, I’m coming will be suitable. Agreed?”

“Yes, Miss Parkhurst,” I said as my cock subsided slightly.

“Hmm,” she said mischievously. “Do I detect a submissive streak, Michael?
We’ll have to explore that another time.” Her fingers closed around my shaft
and, hypnotised, I watched as her hand slowly stroked up and down my
straining cock.

My breathing became ragged again, my heart pounded and I knew I was very
close. “Miss Parkhurst,” I gasped. “I’m coming.”

Emily stared deep into my eyes and I felt two short tugs and suddenly my
cock was alone once again, bobbing wildly as my blood roared in my ears. “So
close,” she smiled as I gulped air. “You really want to spurt now, don’t
you?” she teased and I nodded desperately.

She seemed amused at the desperate look on my face and in the corner of my
mind an image of what we must look like flickered. An older man, half-naked
with a fully clothed young woman who teasingly masturbates him in his very
own office with his secretary seated outside the door.

“Let’s finish,” she said calmly and her finger closed around my throbbing
cock once more. Knowingly, she teased me to the edge quickly until I
hoarsely warned her. “Miss Parkhurst, I’m coming!”

This time, her fingers stayed and I was drawn over the edge, my body
shuddering as I spurted into the towel as her expert fingers milked me dry.
For some reason, I felt embarrassed, almost humiliated and she seemed to
sense it for she wiped me with the towel quickly.

Standing, she smiled down at me. “Adjust yourself, Michael and don’t forget
to wash the towel.” Numb, I watched her move towards the door and wait, her
hand resting on the doorknob. Frantically, I adjusted myself, thrust the
sodden towel into a gym bag in the desk drawer and stood behind my desk as I
slipped my jacket back on.

Nodding her approval at my appearance, she smiled and opened the door.
“Thank you Michael,” she said loudly so Ruth could hear. “That was
interesting. We may need further appointments?” she asked, a quizzical
eyebrow raised.

“Perhaps, Miss Parkhurst,” I mumbled.

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