Ladies Of The Knight

Sex sells. Carrie Kelly knew that, even if it wasn’t a popular notion these days. Being able to admit it was a superpower. And it especially sold to Bruce Wayne—the man practically bought in bulk. 

So for her job interview, she put on a dark blue dress that clung to her maturing teenage figure like a second skin. It was a long dress—making up for professionalism in one area what it lacked in another—but Carrie pictured herself sliding the hem up her long legs if he liked what he initially saw.

It was at least sexy enough for Mr. Wayne’s secretary to take umbrage at. Barbara Gordon kept giving Carrie dirty looks while she waited in the outer office for her interview. It was a long wait, but she knew Bruce wasn’t a very punctual or efficient sort. After all, he did need a maid.

Finally, Bruce Wayne called her into the inner office, telling Barbara that they weren’t to be disturbed.

Right away, Carrie was glad she’d worn something sexy.

In his thirties, Bruce Wayne was one of the most handsome men Carrie had ever seen. He was tall and classically good looking, with a solid build to go with his square jaw and piercing eyes. He looked like the leading man in some old Hollywood movie, a cowboy or a GI. Carrie had strange feelings in her belly just looking at his rugged features and the sculpted body inside his suit, which was currently missing the jacket and tie, his shirtsleeves rolled up over brawny forearms with thick black hair on them.

“So, you’re the first applicant for the new position,” Bruce said. “Quite an attractive young woman, aren’t you? Did you think we were hiring models?”

Carrie blushed. “No, I’m just here for the maid job.”

“Have a seat, Carrie. Let’s talk a little. I always like to have a feel for the people who work for me.”

As Carrie sat down, she thought she might like him to have a feel too.

Ashamed of herself, she pulled her eyes off of him to take in the plush office. The chairs were real leather, the floor covered by an authentic Persian rug, and Bruce’s mahogany desk was the size of a bed. The walls held impressionist paintings. The far end of the office had a giant sculpture of glossy wood veneers and glass doors, a shelf with numerous spaces for books, a stereo system, a record player, and a TV, all in black, all very minimalist. Even the books on the shelves were darkly leather bound. Carrie imagined it not so much as an end in and of itself, but more of a conduit through which Bruce channeled the energy she felt coming off of him. Accepting his own wattage in literature, music, television…

Bruce leaned back in his chair. Whereas Carrie was overwhelmed by his masculinity, his power, the wealth he flaunted, he took in her luscious young beauty with a more appraising eye. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so beautiful. He did make it a point to know each and every person who worked for him—a combination of paranoia, good management technique, and guarded compassion. But he especially knew many of the women who worked for and with him, who had a tendency to be good-looking, promiscuous, and more than a little submissive.

The shareholders in Wayne Enterprises might not be so enamored with Bruce’s stewardship of the company if they knew just how well he knew many of those women.

Bruce knew that. Put simply, he knew better. His work—both as Batman and CEO—took precedence. But there was something special about Carrie, as there often was about the women who found their way into his bed… or wherever.

In her case, perhaps it was the combination of her youth and innocence with how she clearly wanted to seduce him. It would be interesting indeed to bed a virgin, one who already had a head start on transforming herself into a vixen, and awaken her to the pleasures she was evidently so curious about.

“So, you’re interested in cleaning,” Bruce began, folding his hands on his desk. “Do you have much experience in that field?”

“Not much, no. I’ve always helped my mom keep the house clean, so I know how to scrub and do windows and wash dishes…”

Bruce nodded. “I’m surprised you know that much about cleaning. You don’t strike me as a dirty girl. And you have to be dirty before you can get clean, don’t you?”

Carrie blushed again. “Mr. Wayne…”

She looked away from him. Her heart pounded when she didn’t. He was getting to her in a way that none of the boys at her school, none of the boys she’d ever met or seen on TV, ever had. Carrie wondered if his body looked as nice without the expensive clothes as it did with them. Her throat felt dry.

“You seem a little nervous,” Bruce cooed, like he was speaking soothingly to some wild animal in need of comfort. “You shouldn’t be. Much as we’d love to have you with us for a long time, you’ll probably have lots of job interviews in your life. You have to learn how to conduct yourself.”

“Yes sir… Mr. Wayne… sir…”

“Maybe it would help if I showed you one of the job interviews that got the applicant hired. I conducted it myself a few months ago. There’s no sound—privacy and all that—but I think it could be very eye-opening. Go to that cabinet there, against the wall. See it?”

Carrie got up and turned to see the cabinet Bruce was pointing at. She scampered to it, now feeling embarrassed as Bruce’s eyes heated her swaying ass. She tried not to swing her hips so much, but the heels she wore made it a natural way to walk. And if he was looking, he liked what he saw.

“Open up the first drawer. You should see several DVDs in jewel cases.”

Carrie did. Each one had a name and date written on the front in marker. Barbara Gordon, 1/6/18. Julia Pennyworth, 4/7/19. Cassandra Cain, 2/10/17. On and on it went. Stephanie Brown, Helena Bertinelli, Dinah Lance, Zinda Blake, Harper Row, Sasha Bordeaux, Tastu Yamashiro, Rose Forrest… Had Bruce interviewed all these women personally? Carrie guessed he really did run his company with a personal touch.

“Pick one of them,” Bruce said. “Any of them. They all found very good positions here.”

Carrie didn’t understand—was Bruce Wayne really so kind that he’s take time out of his day to teach her how to act at a job interview? He couldn’t have that much free time, no matter how irresponsible a playboy he was. There was something else behind this, but she didn’t know what it was.

She picked up one of the jewel cases at random and, at Bruce’s gesturing insistence, carried it to the entertainment center and set the DVD in the player.

“Sit on the couch,” Bruce said. “You’ll be more comfortable there.”

While Bruce worked a remote control to turn on the TV and access the DVD player in a way that seemed to be second nature to men, Carrie sat down on a couch along the wall. Her heart was pounding for some reason. When Bruce came over to sit down beside her, she felt sweat on her palms. 

The TV now showed an unobtrusive view of Bruce Wayne and a young, dark-haired woman in his office—Carrie imagined her own interview with him would look much the same. They talked and laughed, Carrie relaxing as she took in their body language like she was people watching, trying to figure out what they were thinking, feeling. It was more boring than anything else.

“This woman’s name is Helena Bertinelli. She was interviewing for a position as a tutor to my ward. You’ll want to watch this closely—she really knew how to conduct herself in an interview.”

Then it happened. Bruce shook his head ruefully as if refusing Helena something that he would’ve liked to give her, but his hands were tied. Helena stood up and walked around to his side of the desk. She started undoing the buttons of her blouse. Carrie couldn’t believe it as she saw Helena’s breasts come into view.

“Now this is where I give her the work,” Bruce said.

Carrie could understand why. Helena slid off her open blouse and wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits were magnificent. Full and creamy, with Italian opulence written into every contour. She leaned over and Bruce took her fat, succulent breast into his mouth like it had been made for him. Carrie felt her breath coming a little faster. Bruce’s hand was suddenly on her knee. 

“As you can see,” Bruce said, “Helena really knew how to sell herself.”

Carrie gulped nervously. She watched as Helena straightened up and took off the rest of her clothes. All of her body was as well-sculpted as her large breasts. Her ass flared out gloriously from rounded hips, sweeping from her narrow waist to her firm thighs in an arc of pure sex. Then there was her mane of dark pubic hair, lush and uninhibited, something of the jungle in its untamed exuberance. Still, despite her evident wildness, Helena knelt in front of Bruce. She carefully unzipped his trousers and hauled his erect cock through his fly.

“Oh yes,” Bruce said, squeezing Carrie’s knee. “No way I could say no to that hot little cunt.”

Bruce’s prick looked like a monster, dwarfing Helena’s dark little hands. She ran her slender fingers up and down the huge erection, but that wasn’t enough, Cassie could see immediately that it wouldn’t be enough. She watched as Helena bowed down to suck on it. 

The passion grew in Bruce; Cassie could see it. She felt a tightness all throughout her body. Bruce puts his hands in Helena’s dark, sultry hair and tugged on it, his face growing red. He rammed his manhood fast and hard into Helena’s beautiful face, clearly certain now that he could use it how he wished—both physically and in terms of what Helena would submit to. What she’d enjoy.

There was no sound in the video, but Bruce could well remember how Helena had gargled as he fucked her face. And he remembered what he’d said to Helena and that well-fucked throat of hers.

***

“Yeah,” Bruce groaned. “That’s it, Helena. You’re sucking real good.”

Helena pulled away from him, her sudden retreat dumbfounding Bruce. Then Helena opened her mouth wide, stuck out her tongue, and touched it to the tip of her nose before flattening it down her chin. Clearly offering her mouth to him, wanting to be used even harder and more harshly than he had been doing. 

Bruce’s reluctance vanished; renewed lust shot through his erection. He grabbed Helena by the hair and flung her onto his desk. Then he mounted her, straddling her neck, kneeling on her shoulders. He lowered his cock, slimy with her own saliva, to her lips. Helena’s tongue flicked out, sampling the cleft on the underside of his cockhead where his precum dripped. The temptation was pointless. He fed his knob into her lips, into her mouth, down her soft velvet throat.

Bruce was astonished to see her take his entire swollen length down her gullet without choking. She looked like a hole in the ground which some giant snake was crawling into. Not only didn’t she choke, but she didn’t even gave. Her eyes shone with wicked glee as she sucked instead, gargling, smacking her lips on his manhood. She reached up to his narrow waist, guiding him into her mouth, assuring him he could fuck as hard as he wanted in and out of her luscious lips.

Helena moaned around his cock, her eyes lost in the taste like an addict getting her fix. Bruce had rarely seen something so beautiful and yet so depraved. Reaching down to her, he stroked the flawless skin of her forehead, her temples, and the long sensual coolness of her raven hair. 

His member slid in and out of her tart Italian mouth, the burgeoning veins on it further distending the shape of her lips, his cockhead bulging out from her lips to the depths of her throat. The sucking, slurping, gurgling sounds she made physically taking his cock blended seamlessly with the moans and coos of the satisfaction she took in it, an endlessly rambling song that sent rushes of excitement all through Bruce’s body.

“You love cock, don’t you Helena?” he whispered to her, and though she couldn’t respond with her mouth wrapped around his manhood, her eyes flashed with enthusiastic agreement. “Hope you like cum as much. I’m almost there, Helena. I’m going to give your slut throat the reward it deserves for taking all my prick.”

Bruce couldn’t control himself. Taking hold of the base of his prick, which even Helena’s voracious appetite couldn’t touch, he pumped his shaft. Between his jerking hand and Helena’s suckling throat, his pleasure came to a head. His balls clenched—the cum surged.

“Here it is!”

***

Carrie watched Helena pull her head back so Bruce’s cum was shooting right into her face. The endless pearly white sperm covered her sumptuous face, got into her dark hair, left her dripping like she’d taken a creampie to the face. Carrie didn’t think she’d ever be able to watch a Three Stooges short again without dirty thoughts. 

And the worst part was that Helena didn’t move until the last jet of cum had splattered on her features. Then her lips parted in a wide smile. Helena might not’ve enjoyed having Bruce come on her face with the same sexual thrill Bruce had clearly experienced, but she had most definitely enjoyed being a whore.

The screen went black.

“Now that’s how a young woman should act at a job interview,” Bruce said, his voice coolly teasing in all its seriousness. “Professional, but with a warm personal touch. Do you think you could bring that to the Wayne Enterprises family?”

“Yes I do, Mr. Wayne,” Carrie answered readily. “I’m ready for a warm personal touch right now.”

The understatement of the century. She’d been ready since she walked into the office. She let Bruce put his arms around her and kiss her, barely waiting before she started kissing him back. She forced her tongue into his mouth, touching his with no inhibitions. He certainly hadn’t hired Helena Bertinelli for whatever inhibitions she had.

“Good,” Bruce said, drawing back. “You learn fast, Ms. Kelly. And it seems like you enjoy your work.”

“I like being kissed,” Carrie said.

“What else do you like?”

“Being fucked,” she answered. “Being a whore.”

“That’s good,” Bruce told her. “Because you’re certainly not leaving this office a virgin.”

His arms tightened around her once more; she was pulled tightly against him. He stroked her back as she absorbed the feeling of his broad chest crushing her tits. Then she was pressed down to the couch, his hands going to her shapely breasts. Bruce caressed them through the thin material of her dress. They grew firm and swollen, the pink nipples rigid like they were begging for his attention. Carrie moaned deep in her chest.

“You’re going to come like Helena did,” Bruce promised her. “You’re going to be another video in my collection, sucked and fucked and covered in cum, and you’ll beg to make movies with me again and again.”

He unbuttoned her dress down the front, slipping his hand into her cleavage. She wasn’t wearing a bra; his touch went straight to her hot breasts. His callused fingers touched a nipple. For a moment, Carrie thought it strange that some pampered billionaire executive would have hands as rough as a working man, but everything about Bruce was so tough and strong and hard that it made a warped kind of sense. She drew back from him, moaning, but he still held onto her nipples. She arched her back, pushing her breasts into his big hands.

“Yes!” she gasped. “I like that! You’re making me so hot! It’s like you’re… fucking me with your hands! Fucking my tits by touching them!”

“A nice way to think of it,” Bruce said. “But I haven’t started fucking you yet. I’ve barely even touched you. I’ve just made sure you’re the whore I thought you were. A horny little bitch who’s ready to beg to be fucked. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To be a dirty slut for me?”

Carrie could only nod frantically. At the moment, she couldn’t imagine any other reason for coming to him. She didn’t want to be a maid. She wanted to be his sex slave. She wanted to know she’d have a chance at this sensual ecstasy every day of her life!

Bruce pulled her dress all the way down, revealing her pert breasts without any cover to distract from their supple perfection, and the palely freckled expanse of her taut belly, all the way down to the coppery fuzz of her pubic thatch. 

But that didn’t interest him at the moment. He went down to the swell of her mounds and his tongue teased out, running over one of her nipples. Carrie shivered, the hard bud straining up from her areola, wanting to be in his mouth. He took it between his lips and sucked, seeming to draw it deep into his throat, then biting at it, gently ravaging the tender flesh until the points of his teeth were sunken so deep into her breast that Carrie didn’t know how the feeling wasn’t pain.

“God, that feels incredible,” she sighed.

Bruce withdrew far enough to take a good, appraising look at her well-formed breasts. It felt like his gaze was burning into her sensitive cleavage. Her nipples responded, swelling up so much they felt raw, bruised.