Madison the Intern_(1)

Steaming coffee in one hand and a warm cream cheese bagel in the other, I carefully backed against the large glass door to the reception area and pushed it open with my rear. I stepped through, the pneumatic closer offering up a mechanical hiss to pull it shut after I entered.

‘Hey Maddie, you’re late,” Sheila observed, looking up from her stack of paperwork. “She’s already called to ask about you.” I glanced at the glow of the digital clock on her receptionist desk. 8:02, it displayed in nonnegotiable terms — two unforgivable minutes overdue. I gave her a pleading gaze with my large brown eyes, knowing in my heart that she was powerless to help.

“She’s in a state this morning,” Sheila warned sympathetically. “The new girl from Accounting has been in there for almost an hour, and it sounds like she’s getting torn a new one.”

As if to punctuate the point, the heavy oak door to the inner office of the CEO was pulled open and a petite, redheaded girl rushed out, looking disheveled. Head down, unable to meet our eyes, she sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek as she hurried by, leaving a black streak of eye liner across her cheek. High heels clacked a receding rhythm on the tile floor as she rapidly made her way to the glass door of the receptionist office. A sob escaped her lips as she fled into the hallway. The pneumatic closer hissed, drawing the door shut once more.

“Your turn,” Sheila offered quietly, gesturing with her hand towards the open office door of the proverbial lion’s den. I nervously swallowed and then attempted to paste a strained smile onto my expression as I approached the office of the CEO.

Ms. Booker, CEO, brushed her shoulder-length black hair back over one ear as she shot a subtle look at the large clock on the wall as I entered. It was all the chastisement that was needed as the minute hand crept its way towards the three-minutes-after-the-hour mark. I padded my way across the plush Oriental rug, choking back the urge to offer an apology for my delay, knowing it would only further inflame the issue.

The happily-divorced woman executive simply didn’t have the patience for delays. In her mid-thirties, she was young for the position of CEO in a large legal firm. But she ran her business with the same driving zeal as the rest of her life, dividing her waking hours between long days at the office, hard workouts at the gym, and the remaining fragments of the day spent with her two daughters.

I set the coffee and bagel down on the desk, careful to avoid a spill. “They were out of strawberry cream cheese, so I had to get you raspberry,” I explained. Ms. Booker favored the bagel with a disapproving look, but said nothing. She lifted the coffee cup and took an experimental sip of her morning brew. Her lips pursed into a sour expression as she set the cup back down with a hint of irritation. “Remind me, Madison, how do I take my coffee?” she inquired in a conversational tone.

My heart sank, realizing I had forgotten to add the required amount of sugar. “Sweet as a cheerleader, and twice as creamy,” I recited her desired formula from memory in a hushed voice. Ms. Booker fixed me with a piercing look and then retrieved a pair of sugar packets from her desk. As she made the necessary correction to her cup of java, my eyes were drawn to a familiar looking document on her desk. It was my first draft of the legal analysis of the Carson merger. The work was a tall order for a first-year intern like myself, and apparently my efforts had failed to measure up. The top sheet was a bloodbath of red ink, promising additional carnage on the following pages. I found myself wishing I could do a complete restart of the morning.

Ms. Booker slid the report across the desk to me with a light push. “I’ll need that revised by the end of the day,” she instructed.

I nodded and then looked down at the floor submissively. “Yes, Mother,” I responded. A shock jolted through me, instantly catching the vital breach of protocol. She slowly looked up at me with an ominous expression. Making reference to our family relationship while in the office was an offense of the highest order. As a summer intern in my mother’s law firm, I was afforded no special considerations due to our family ties. If anything, Mother tended to set the bar of approval several notches higher for me than the already demanding performance levels required of the rest of the staff.

I trembled, feeling a heavy fog of silent tension hanging in the air as she stood up from her desk and crossed the office. The woman moved with the graceful ease of a cougar on the prowl, hips rolling sensuously in her tight black business pants. A subtle creak of hinges told me she was closing the wooden office door. The gentle metallic click of its latch into the frame causing me to flinch as if a steel-barred door of a jail cell had just slammed shut behind me. Her footsteps treaded lightly back across the carpet as she approached me from behind. I stood stock still, facing her desk, unwilling to turn and embrace her wrath.

“You know, Madison,” she said quietly as I felt her hands find their way lightly to my waist, “I think sometimes you purposely try to vex me. Do you? Does it excite you? Did you come here this morning wanting to be taught a lesson?”

“No, Mother… I mean, Ms. Booker… I… I would never…” I stammered in denial, feeling a nervous tremor shudder through me. A shiver raced up my spine as the tell-tale sound of a zipper could be heard. The back of my skirt split apart as the plastic teeth of the garment’s fastener disengaged from top to bottom. Fully opened, my pleated grey skirt fell away from my hips, slithering down my shapely thighs in a silky cascade to puddle around my feet.

Despite my denial, the sopping wet crotch of my tight pink panties revealed the truth — ‘Exhibit A’ in legal parlance. Mother’s fingers travelled up my inner thighs, finding the tell-tale abundance of vaginal wetness soaking through the sheer mesh of the lace. Her fingers withdrew, her hand reaching over my shoulder to bring the slimy digits into view. She rubbed her glistening fingers together, demonstrating their liberal coating of my girlish lubrication. I blushed, caught in my obvious lie.

She issued a quiet chuckle under her breath. My pulse quickened as I braced myself to hear the command I knew was coming. “Panties down, please, Madison,” she instructed. My flush of shame flared to a more intense shade of crimson, the air-conditioned office suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm. Her tone was calm, but I immediately complied without question, years of discipline causing an instinctive reaction to obey. I dragged the waistband of my underwear downward, peeling the wet panty crotch away from my steamy wet pussy as long strands of vaginal juices pulled taunt and glistened in the florescent lighting. I slid the panties to my knees, leaving them suspended between my naked legs. The scent of my moist pussy wafted around me as more undeniable evidence of my arousal. The fleshy, ruffled lips of my twat — throbbing with anticipation — unfurled further, blooming open like a rose. My heart hammered in my chest, my breathing rapid.

Her hands found their way once more to my now naked hips. Goosebumps rose on my bare skin as the tips of her fingers trailed downward, lightly raking her red, manicured nails over the rounded cheeks of my firm little ass. Her digits slid intimately into the crack of my butt, secure in the knowledge that this was territory she claimed as her own. “Oh, you chose pink today,” Mother observed casually. “How cute! It matches your panties.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have finally done something right. Mother always appreciated a well-coordinated outfit, so I made it a point to color-match my panties with my choice of butt-plug. Some sort of anal insertion was part of the mandatory dress code for all the girls at the legal firm, and Mother took a strong personal interest in the inspection process to assure compliance. Some days I found myself in the mood for a string of anal beads, but on a whim this morning, I had gone with the tastefully petite plug, adorned with a glittering faux jewel on the end. My mother’s fingers closed around the exposed end of the small anal probe, gently giving it an experimental tug. My little rectal rosebud was snugged down firmly, flexing backwards but refusing to yield its prize to such a delicate pull.

“Ummm, that… is… tight,” Mother complimented. I brushed my long blonde hair back over one ear in a flirty motion, allowing a shy smile to creep into view. Applying a more insistent force, she firmly grasped the end of the pink little butt-plug and succeeded in freeing it from my anal embrace. I stifled a small gasp of pleasure as it popped loose with a barely audible sound. The taunt little ring of my sphincter puckered back and forth and then sealed itself up securely. She set the butt-plug on the desk next to her neglected raspberry cream cheese bagel and then turned to walk across the room.

A brief sound of rummaging was heard and then the crush of soft carpet fibers under Mother’s heels revealed her return from behind. I cringed, reacting to the all-too-familiar plastic ‘pop’ of a plastic lid off a small container. The pungent smell of mint washed over me, causing my nostrils to flare. “Please, no… not that…” I begged, knowing she was already dipping two fingers into the jar of Vicks Vapo-Rub.

“Hush,” she responded in a tone that invited no further argument. With a firm hand on my upper back, she directed me into place. The sound of my rapidly-increasing pulse throbbing in my ears, I complied, leaning forward across her desk and spreading my legs as wide as the straining panties around my knees would allow. I wobbled unsteadily on my high heels, wishing I could kick them off. But Mother would never have allowed that, liking the way they accentuated the posture and firm curve of a young girl’s ass.

I choked back a mewl of protest, biting my lower lip as Mother’s fingers made intimate contact with my pussy. Already I could feel the initial effects of the Vicks — a cooling sensation on the delicate tissues of my cunt. I quivered, knowing from experience that would quickly transform to a blazing heat as the formula set to work on the hyper-sensitive nerve endings. I squirmed as she dug deep, burying two gel-coated fingers to the hilt in my twat, twisting and rubbing to ensure a uniform spread of the diabolical lotion. I hissed a sharp intake of breath as the chemical reaction began. A seething heat began to surge to a boil in the interior of my snatch. I clenched the cheeks of my ass as I felt her fingers withdraw from the velvety sleeve of my pussy. Not allowed to touch myself without Mother’s permission, I desperately wriggled my hips in a futile effort to react to the stimulation of my vaginal tissues.

My efforts were rewarded by a sharp crack of flesh on flesh as my mother’s open hand lashed out and landed a sharp blow on the naked cheek of my rump. Firm, bare skin quivered with the impact. I shrieked, a combination of surprise and actual pain. I bounced on my toes, daring to reach behind me in an attempt to rub away the lingering stinging sensation of the slap. Mother’s fingers closed around my hand, pulling it away.

A red blush of shame once again crept up my face, matching the crimson shade that now surely glowed in the outline of her hand on the creamy flesh of my taunt little rear.