The dank, gray gloom was lifting as I pulled into the parking lot outside the mist-shrouded warehouse in Edinburgh. The snow was still falling heavily, swirling snowflakes had reduced visibility to a few feet by the time we reached our destination. Even though we had managed to outrun the blizzard, it would be difficult getting back this afternoon. Beside me, Fiona pulled the black trench coat tightly around her breasts and shivered slightly in spite of the warmth from the heater. I had picked her up from a bus stop on the outskirts of Tullibody just as the snow was beginning to drift over the Ochil hills. She had joked that I was a lifesaver and I had winked and nodded at her as I drove into Stirling, heading for the M8. To our right the snow-covered hills had vanished beneath a thick blanket of snow clouds as the blizzard moved relentlessly southwards across the Forth Valley. We had experienced a light fall last night but it was only the precursor, so the news bulletin said last night, of more severe weather. We had agreed that an early start would see us in Edinburgh before the threatened motorway closures.
Fiona had made three phone calls on the fifty minute journey, the last had been finished as I entered the parking lot. She exuded youthful passion and vivacity no matter what the situation. Even when she was pissed off at something she at least managed to extract a little dark sarcasm from it. I had fallen for the older woman, at forty five, she was an invigorating change from the young, flawless model types that filled her office most days. Fiona didn’t have the pristine beauty of the younger women, but she had style, flair and an underlying earthy sensuality that seemed to reverberate through the office, overwhelming the tacky sexuality of the younger women. Many a night I had gone home with an image fixed in my head of Fiona leaning forward to examine a letter I had written, her bra partially visible between her buttons. I could have written a book on imagined erotic encounters with my boss. Just last night she had been lying on my bed, the pale pink blouse opened to her navel, a bra cup pulled over a nipple, and her lips parted as she waited for me to devour her breasts. I had awoken just as I was about to kiss her throat to a phone call from Fiona.
“I am now,” I had muttered, “what time is it?”
“Time you were up and at ‘em, big man, we have less than an hour before the snow hits and I want to be in Edinburgh by then.”
I had farewelled her a minute later and gotten ready for work, the vision of the partially unbuttoned blouse still skirting the fringes of my consciousness, one of those half remembered dreams that lives on the boundary between reality and fantasy.
I killed the engine and stared at the swirling snowflakes.
“Looks like no one’s here,” she murmured as I lit a cigarette.
I shrugged and wound down the window a touch to let the smoke escape.
She shivered slightly.
“Sorry,” I apologized, “I know you don’t smoke.”
“Don’t mind me,” she shot me a wry smile and fluffed out her shoulder length dark hair, “I’d rather breathe your noxious fumes than freeze my arse off out here, this smoking ban can go to hell.”
“Have it your way,” I wound the window up, “I was being, you know.”
“Polite,” she slapped my leg, “this is Scotland, Mark, no need to be so polite.”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting.”
“So tell me,” she wiped the condensation from the window, “what do you think of snow now?”
“Not like Western Australia,” I replied, “I had no idea it was so cold, and wet.”
“Frozen water,” she giggled.
I glanced across and smiled. She was the account manager for a leading lingerie supplier, I was her personal assistant. It had been a job I had fallen into completely by mistake when I applied for a job at Davidson & Associates, thinking it was a law office. However upon stepping into the office, I had been confronted with a buxom woman wearing a pink negligee. Fiona had been sitting behind a desk with a camera and a fixed look on her face. The black, satin blouse was open to her cleavage and I found myself riveted on a button, wondering what color bra she was wearing, her breasts were definitely sumptuous and inviting. I had pulled my eyes from them and smiled politely as she leaned back and adjusted her bra strap.
“Not bad, but I think we’ll stick with the black,” she murmured, “black is sexy, peach is bland, what do you think, Mark?”
“Sorry, just showing my wares,” the girl beamed.
Fiona apologized once the model had left.
“I knew you were in the other office but I decided to let you walk in,” she fluffed out her hair and adjusted her blouse, “this is a normal day, lots of models walking around with next to nothing, thank God we have central heating and double glazing.”
She undid her cuffs and began folding them.
“So what makes you think you’re capable of working as my personal assistant,” she arched an eyebrow, “granted that you didn’t flinch all that much a few minutes ago.”
“I thought it was a law office,” I tugged at my tie, “I thought it was strange to see pictures of women in sexy lingerie hanging on the walls.”
“You can always leave,” she smiled sardonically, “I tried to get this job listed as an exclusion under equal opportunities, but my lawyer advised me that I could be in hot water if I didn’t at least interview some men for the job.”
She adjusted the cuffs and propped her chin in her hands.
“So now you’re here, what do you think?”
“Well now I’m here,” I folded my arms, “what do you think of having a devilishly handsome young man pandering to your every need.”
Her mouth dropped open in amazement and I restrained a triumphant smirk.
“Now we’re even,” I winked, “shall we start again?”
For a moment I thought I had lost her but then she chuckled merrily.
“I like your style,” she folded her arms, “I have nothing against a male personal assistant, but I was hesitant, due to the fact I would probably attract some peeping tom. It can be hard for a man around here with scantily dressed models walking around the office.”
“Well I do like to look,” I admitted, “but I do have a job to do at the end of the day, don’t I?” I tugged my tie again.
“So, what would my job involve?”
Her eyes shifted and she fluffed out her hair.
“Oh your job,” she shuffled through the papers on her desk and put her glasses on.
“Ah, yes, you will be seeing to my diary. I can’t seem to manage my time, nor do I have the inclination,” she looked up and smiled bravely, “you would also be updating my diary, fielding phone calls, typing letters,” her eyes drifted to the computer monitor, “and sorting out this abysmal database that some numpty with a loud tie and bad breath sold me, I can’t seem to make head nor tail of it. Why is it that computer programs that are designed to make life easier, invariably turn out to be a millstone around our necks?”
She lowered her eyes demurely, “I don’t suppose you’re a database person, are you?”
“Databases just come down to management,” I replied, “I’ve worked with them before, you put data in and hopefully retrieve data at a later date.”
“Quite right,” she grinned wolfishly, “I like putting things in, but I’m afraid getting them out again is a monumental task.”
She giggled and I felt my manhood rise to the occasion as her sumptuous breasts jiggled.
“So I’m hired?” I propped my chin on my hand and fixed her with a steady stare.
She looked past me and then met my gaze smilingly.
“Well maybe you could bring a breeze of fresh air to this enterprise,” she flicked a hand through her hair, “we wear these things because we want to impress a man, perhaps you’d like to offer your opinion?”
I stared down at the selection of basques, corsets, bras and panties.
“Go on,” she leaned forward expectantly and pulled her glasses off, “consider this an interview question, which ones would look good on me?”
I gulped and felt a familiar bulge between my legs, was she serious? I looked into her hazel eyes. Was she mentally undressing me? Her eyes widened a fraction and I detected a faint nervousness in her demeanor, I met her gaze for a split second longer and turned my attention to the lingerie spread out over her desk.
“Hmm,” I held up a G string, “very interesting,” I dropped it and examined a peach-colored bra and panties, “very revealing, crotchless I see.”
“They come with stockings and suspenders,” she replied off handedly.
“Ah,” I picked up a black basque, “black would go with your hair, but not your eyes,” I turned it over and studied it, “not bad though, it would look good under a black blouse.”
She winced slightly as I laid it aside.
I picked up a short, ivory-colored nightgown fastened at the bodice with three cloth-covered buttons and open at the front.
“This is nice, but you need something else,” I flicked through the selection and eventually found a pair of frilly panties and white corset trimmed with frills, a pair of white stockings completed my selection.
“It would be nice with these,” I indicated the stockings.
“Hmm,” she frowned, “why?”
“Because it’s designed to tease and tantalize, the crotchless numbers are for when you’re feeling voracious, but this is subtle. Give him a hint of what he’s going to get, make a man work for his erection and he’ll enjoy it more, so my grandmother always said.”
Our eyes met and she smiled crookedly.
“Okay, I was joking about my grandmother, she was a staunch Methodist, but you get my point.”
“I certainly do,” she took my selections and set them aside.
“You’re hired,” she patted my hand, “I know I’m supposed to interview three others today but after the three dozen people I’ve interviewed this week, all of whom would have died of embarrassment if I’d asked them that question, you’re hired.”
She grabbed her handbag and stood up.
“Come on, let’s get bluttered.”
“Drunk, somewhere between mildly inebriated and smashed out of your skull,” she grinned, “and when I’m too drunk to drive you’re the nominated driver.”
Mairi, one of the receptionists, looked up as we walked into the outer office and offered me a smile as Fiona pulled a light wrap over her blouse.
“Mairi, I’m heading home now. I want you to interview the other three, just take their details and then write rejection letters to all of them, except for this man,” she nodded at me, “draft a letter to Mark Ferguson and offer him the position as personal assistant.”
She glanced at me.
“You can start tomorrow morning, can’t you?”
“Certainly,” I made a quick calculation, “eight thirty?”
“Eight,” she tweaked my cheek, “welcome aboard, “we work hard but we party harder, now let’s do some serious drinking.”
The contract had been signed down at her local pub, a quiet little place down in the Upper Craigs. I discovered that bluttered meant getting drunk and Fiona could drink for Scotland, although she managed to keep her dignity in spite of the five double vodkas she downed. Her off the wall sexual innuendos kept me amused while we drank and when she finally farewelled me, I felt as if I had been laid on the couch and fucked senseless. Fiona could do things with her eyes that left my heart in my mouth, a pity she was married I confessed to a friend that night. The next day when I turned up for work she looked as fresh as if she’d just stepped out of the shower, not even a mention of a hangover, I on the other hand was feeling distinctly off color.
“Did I wear you out?” Fiona shot me a cheeky grin, “that’s a shame, I like a man who can go the distance.”
“I’ll manage,” I smiled bravely.
“Here,” she tossed me a can of soft drink, “it’s Scotland’s other national drink, Irn Bru has cured many a hangover.”
I cracked the can while she stirred her coffee, it tasted a little like orange but with a strange aftertaste, I nodded in approval.
Her eyes lit up.
Two hours later I was quietly admitting the wonders of the strange orange tasting drink and we settled into work. By the end of the day I was functioning perfectly and she nodded in approval as she surveyed my work.
“I must admit I had a feel about you,” she patted my shoulder absently, “I can put people off because I’m too upfront, but you came right back without blinking, and your work is first rate. A few mistakes but even perfection like me makes mistakes at least once in our lives.”
Over the next three months I was to discover that she worked me hard but there was always time for laughs and late night drinking sessions. We both shared a passion for strong vodka and double malt. By Christmas, I had to confess that she had worked her way into my heart. I would catch her looking at me now and then, but there was always that distinct dividing line between boss and employee, she would make an excuse and come out with either an off color joke or something work related. But even so I suspected that there was an underlying sexual tension in the office, at times it was so thick you could cut it with a knife. There were other times I thought I could detect a quiet desperation behind the hazel eyes. I knew her marriage was stagnating, drying up before her eyes, and I slipped subtly into another role in the months leading up to Christmas, unpaid counselor. She took advantage of my willingness to talk about sex and different methods. We would switch our conversation to something work related as soon as we were disturbed, but we always returned to it as soon as we were alone. Her questions were endless and I always managed to supply an answer, even if it was to admit that I had never considered that position before. How we never managed to have sex I will never know, we had motive, opportunity and yet, there was always something that happened right at the moment when we could have thrown each other across a desk and gone for it. My Christmas present to her was a fitting tribute, a book on the Kama Sutra, a bottle of massage oil, and edible panties.
“Mark,” she shot me a sly grin, “you shouldn’t have.”
“Surprise your husband,” I had replied, “there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“Cold?” I looked across.
“A little,” she shivered, “let me try this number, the warehouse opens earlier on Friday.”
We waited while the phone rang out and with a sigh she tossed it down in disgust.
“We ought to find a café somewhere,” I butted the cigarette out, “otherwise I’ll freeze my nuts off, and I hate to lose my nuts in the line of duty.”
“We couldn’t have that, could we?”
I said nothing as I contemplated the somber, brick walls. I had been here a few times. We had to come here at least twice a month to check on the stock held here and look at new ranges. We were the middlemen, supplying big department stores all over the UK and Europe, nothing moved without our knowledge. And yet you would never find us on the fashion pages, that was reserved for the glamor models, designers and sellers, we were the go betweens, we just took the money and moved the stock. In some ways it was almost passionless to move ten thousand units, read edible G strings from one side of the country to the other.
“I can turn the heating on if you like, but it’s going to get too hot.”
“Well, we couldn’t have a lingerie supplier getting too hot, could we?”
I smiled weakly.
“So,” she managed a minute later, “what do you do when you’re not working for me?”
“Sit at home and try to ignore Eastenders.”
“Now that’s a first,” she mused, “most people can’t get by without their nightly fix of Easties.”
“You watch that stuff?” I turned and stared.
“Aye,” her cheeks flushed, “it gives me something to look at while I’m ironing my work clothes and playing with my minch.”
“Your minch?” I frowned.
“My pussy,” she giggled, “we call a pussy, a hairy minch.”
“Oh,” I grinned and ran an eye over the black suit and white blouse, “and very nicely pressed too, you can iron mine while you’re at it, I hate ironing.”
“You’ll keep,” she grinned playfully.
“Looking forward to my holiday,” I changed the subject abruptly, “Amsterdam is looking good but it’s a toss up between Amsterdam and Majorca.”
“Ooh, Majorca sounds good,” she shivered, “warm beaches, blue skies, I love the beach.”
“Plenty of beaches in Australia,” I replied, “I spent a few months working in Broome.”
“Northwestern Australia,” I brushed ash from my trousers, “it’s an old pearling town, but it’s so out of the way you pretty much get left to your own devices. You have to drive for about a day and a half just to get there from Perth.”
“God,” she winced, “such a big place.”
“Aye,” I grinned, “my girlfriend at the time had a job in a hotel and managed to get me in as a maintenance man.”
“Ex,” I leaned forward, “she found someone else while I was up there and that was the end of that relationship, I hate sharing.”
“Me too,” she unbuttoned her coat and smoothed out her blouse, “I met my husband when I was working as a receptionist for a hotel in Majorca. My boyfriend at the time was shagging the hotel chambermaid and I decided to do a little cheating of my own.”
“I see, so you married him?”
“Aye, fifteen years later we’re back in Scotland, he works as an engineer and I sell sexy knickers.”
“Your husband must have the best job in the world,” I offered a moment later, “checking out the wares.”
We lapsed into silence until eventually she turned and stared at me.
“So, you found anyone here yet?”
“Not anyone I’d settle with,” I pursed my lips, “not sure if I’ll stay here or head back downunder, if you’ll pardon the Freudian slip.”
She smiled sadly.
“I’d love to go there, I keep telling my husband we should head down there, but the thought of going twenty two hours without a cigarette terrifies him.”
“Makes the penis a bit firmer,” I offered her a sly grin, “smoking tends to make it smaller.”
“I’ll pass that information on,” she smiled wanly, “not that it would make much difference, I think he’s forgotten he’s got a penis.”
“You had to say that,” I shot her a pained look, “here’s me out in the cold with a sex starved woman and no one around for miles.”
“Sex starved?” she slapped my leg again, “you will keep, I’ll have you know I use my Rampant Rabbit regularly. I find the vibrations send my husband to sleep, leaving me to enjoy myself.”
“So get him to help you.”
“John?” Fiona rolled her eyes, “his idea of foreplay is two cans of Tennent’s Lager and playing with my breasts.”
“Don’t tell me,” I shot back, “the afterglow is the cigarette?”
“Something like that,” she sighed, “I left that book out on the bed, along with the massage oil. I didn’t say who it was from, but he just tossed them on the floor and went to sleep.”
“So it was all a waste of money?”
“I’m sorry,” she wiped her eyes, “God, I shouldn’t be saying this in front of you, but I wish I could do something to save this, I just think it’s high time I ended this sham of a marriage. What does it take to get a man aroused?”
“Doesn’t work with John,” she pulled a face.
“I’ve bought toys and books before, so as he can at least learn there’s more than one way to have sex, but he’s not interested.”
“Not interested?” I glanced at her, “in a fine woman such as yourself? I think he’s playing hard to get if you ask me.”
“Too hard,” she pouted.
“So leave him, find someone else?”
It was the wrong thing to say judging by the look on her face and I retracted it instantly.
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
She turned to look at me and I saw a distinct change come over her in that moment. Her eyes softened and I felt as if I had been laid down in the seat and fucked senseless again. What did it take to make the first move? My eyes fell to the magical point where the blouse was fastened, one button would start the unveiling, I traveled further to her pubic mound, she often joked about her weight but personally I found her waist incredibly sexy and often told her stop slagging herself off. She was so unlike the skin and bones models who flaunted their wares in front of me, childbearing had done its damage but she had managed to retain her figure for the most part. I felt myself beginning to perspire as I stared at her crotch, imagining sliding between her legs and hearing her soft sighs. I looked up into her eyes and noticed she was also perspiring, her cheeks had reddened slightly and I detected a change in her breathing.
“But I was,” she leaned back into the seat, “thinking of leaving, he’s a nice guy and we have the children to think about, but I want more from life and nothing I can do will convince him that this is worth saving. As long as his dinner is on the table that’s all he cares about, that and the football.”
I nudged her leg.
“You never know, he might come around.”
She squeezed my hand and I felt a slight tremor go through her, she was staring at me and I felt suddenly detached. Was it possible?
She looked down for a split second and moved my hand to her leg, I felt the wool-blend material beneath my fingers and rubbed her thigh. I had seen her legs plenty of times before. She had a nice figure, and those legs were firm and meaty, she could exert a lot of pressure if she closed her legs. Her breathing became shallower. When she looked up at me I managed a weak smile. Her hair seemed to shine with an iridescent light and I felt myself falling into those soft hazel eyes. The crows feet at the corners gave her age away, but I had long since ignored the little imperfections of age, it was as if they no longer existed, and even if they did, who cared? She looked away and bit her lip. We had discussed just about every position known, but her frank admission had suddenly cracked the door and I could see light in the darkness, it drew me further on until I coughed and broke the silence.
“We really shouldn’t,” I began.
Her eyes watered and I squeezed her thigh firmly in response.
She swallowed and stroked my hand.
“There’s no CCTV here,” her voice was almost a whisper, “and we’re both human.”
CCTV, the latest craze to infect the nation. A nationwide network of cameras constantly recording every human who strayed into their view. For a nation founded on democratic principles, the British government seemed determined to invade every private moment, but there were still many public areas the cameras couldn’t reach.
I slid my hand up and down her thigh, feeling her breathing becoming distinctly ragged. She eased her hand up the front of my white shirt and tugged at my tie, working it loose and a moment later released the top button and tickled my throat. It was becoming warmer, the aroma of her perfume was driving me crazy. I reached her soft, warm pubic mound and tickled her lips. She arched her back and moaned. My cock got suddenly hard at the thought of sliding between those engorged lips, she moaned again and stared at me helplessly, all power over me dissipating.
I crossed the line.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she whimpered.
“If you insist,” I checked my watch, “you think we have time?”
“Time enough, I think we have at least twenty five minutes,” she sounded almost childlike as she parted her legs, “what do you suggest?”
“A little finger fucking?”
“Finger fucking,” she stared at me as I rubbed her lips, she shivered and I stroked her hair with my left hand and closing her eyes, she sighed gently.
“Yeah, finger fucking, we men have one penis, but we have eight fingers, two thumbs and a tongue, so there’s no excuse for being too tired for your partner.”
“Finger fucking,” Fiona swallowed.
“Yeah,” I rubbed her pubic mound slowly and inched up to her waistband, “just lie back, close your eyes and think of Brad Pitt.”
“Okay, Winston Churchill, John Prescott, William Wallace, whoever you want.”
She stared at me and swallowed as I undid the button on her slacks and folding the strap back, inched it away from the clip. It popped loose a moment later and she grimaced.
“Excuse my rolls of fat.”
“Love handles,” I chuckled, “and you’re not that fat, I’d call that comfortable.”
“You’re flattering me,” her eyes narrowed.
“Shut up,” I murmured, “a compliment is a compliment, just accept it.”
She swallowed and licked her lips as she slid her fingers up the front of my shirt.
Slowly, deliberately, I undid three buttons on her blouse and exposed her soft belly. Fiona stared at my fingers as I began tracing little circles with featherlight touches, getting closer to her waistband with each pass until finally I slid a finger under her waistband.
She winced and shuddered, I got lower and lower and she purred quietly.
“Now you’ve done it, you’ll have to unzip me now.”
She worked the lever and reclined the seat until she was almost horizontal. A far away look drifted across her face as she rubbed herself and looked at me lustfully.
“We don’t have much time.”
I unzipped her and moved my hand over the white panties, they were slightly damp and I smiled and began to rub firmly, she closed her eyes and purred contentedly.
“Remind me,” I remarked as I kept rubbing her swollen lips through the silk panties, “to pick out some lingerie for you this morning, I can see you in a black basque giving me a lap dance.”
She stared painfully at me. My fingers rubbed her gently, sliding through the opening of her lips in a gentle see sawing motion. She gasped and her thighs trembled as she spread her legs and grabbing my hand, showed me how to masturbate her. We worked steadily and then she closed her eyes. I grinned and tickled her perineum with my middle finger.
She arched her back and grunted.
“Oh, oh, oh, ooh,” the last word was ripped from her throat as I pressed against her G spot.
“You like tongues?” I pulled her panties and trousers down over her hips to expose the patch of hair between her legs, the hair had been trimmed from around her lips and clitoris, and I caught the familiar musky aroma of salt. Her pink lips were glistening, begging to be licked and fondled, I tested her passage and felt the softness enclosing my finger, she purred again.
“Tongues,” she breathed out suddenly, “how long have we got?”
“Not much longer,” I lowered my head and using my other hand, worked the hood of her clitoris back and forth. My tongue circled it with firm strokes while I rubbed her lips, she guided two fingers inside her wet passage and I obliged, teasing her with short, sharp strokes. She arched her back and groaned loudly.
“Oh, Jesus, oh sweet Jesus, don’t stop.”
“Thank you,” I murmured as I slid back the hood and fastening my lips around her glistening clitoris, sucked hard. She flinched and grabbing my head, held me down while I worked the delicate, nerve-filled organ, she was breathing heavily, her gasps short and sharp. I tickled her perineum on every downward stroke while my other hand traced circles on her belly. She grabbed her breasts with both hands and began moaning, her breathing coming in heavy gasps, I could sense she was starting to peak, her passage began contracting and I increased my momentum until all I could hear was her sighs, the slip slop of my fingers inside her, and the rhythmic thump thump of her buttocks against the seat.
My movements became more frantic and with a sudden push, I twisted my fingers inside her, moving around and around, she cried out again and again. Shudders swept through her body and a moment later she suddenly arched her back, her passage clamped tightly around my fingers and she pushed my head away from her clitoris. She hung there in midair for what seemed like an eternity and then fell back onto the seat, she rose twice more and finally exhaled noisily and flapped her blouse to cool herself down while I slowed my penetrating movements to a dead stop.
“That was fucking amazing,” she murmured hoarsely, her eyes were glistening and she wiped them quickly.
She stroked my hair, “where did you learn that?”
“From a book,” I sat up and slowly pulled her panties up, “I read it before I gave it to you for Christmas.”
She rearranged herself and raised the seat a little, the windows had misted over and she checked her watch.
“You are some personal assistant,” she wiped the window and peered out, “no one has ever given me that kind of orgasm.”
“A shame,” I rubbed her thigh, “I enjoyed it.”
She checked her watch and smiled.
“Looks like the snow has made them even later today,” she rubbed my penis, “you feel like a little light entertainment?”
I looked down.
“I like to swallow,” she paused, “just thought I’d warn you.”
I looked down as she unbuckled my belt and undid my trousers. My cock was hardening and in a moment of panic, I imagined a police car pulling up at that moment to find me with my cock at attention.
“Ooh,” she wrapped her hand around my shaft and began pulling gently, “you are just the right size, too much is a waste so they say.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but then she undid the single button and eased my erect penis through the fly and licked her lips. The head glistened with pre cum and Fiona lowered her head and licked it clean. I arched my back and putting my hands around her head, guided her downwards as she sucked the head.
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” she whimpered, “I love the taste of a man in the morning.”
Her tongue swirled around my head a few times, guiding me to a full erection. Her fingers tickled my balls and perineum, I arched my back and closed my eyes, slowly letting go of my fear of discovery; to be honest the danger of being observed was beginning to excite me. Fiona suddenly opened her mouth wider and dived downwards, taking my cock right into her mouth. I whimpered as she began moving up and down, her fingers kept up a constant rhythm on my balls and perineum at the same time. Sweat dropped from my brow, my heart picked up a few paces and then I was breathing heavily, totally transfixed by her beautiful, silky hair. She was tightening and loosening her grip on my cock as she worked the shaft and head, and I felt totally out of control. I chanced a glance out the window and wiped a patch clean. A car was slowing down for the parking lot.
“I think someone’s coming.”
But Fiona merely worked harder, I considered for a moment the chances of stopping the explosion, but then I felt something break free and my perineum twitched sharply. I arched my back and spurted hot semen into her mouth. She hesitated and then drank greedily as the car pulled into the parking lot and parked a hundred feet away. Spots swam before my eyes as she drained me of strength and everything else. Eventually she raised her head, licked the last of semen from my cock and swallowed.
“You taste good,” she gasped.
I stared at her.
“You’re nuts,” I exhaled suddenly, “I think we were seen.”
She glanced at the window and shook her head.
“No, that’s Danny, he’s probably still half pissed from last night, he’ll be on autopilot.”
I rearranged myself as an older man got out of the car, he swigged from a bottle of vodka and tossed it into a nearby bin and shooting a glance our way, turned and walked to the front door.
“See, nobody saw a thing,” she reached for her makeup, “and I have to do myself all over again, now that you’ve fucked me stupid.”
I stared out the window, still struggling to come to terms with what had happened. Fiona smiled one of those secretive smiles that had driven me to distraction lately.
“What happens now?”
“I’m okay with casual sex,” she unzipped the bag, “or something more permanent.”
She stopped and stared at me strangely.
“This isn’t going to impact on our work relationship, is it?”
“It could,” I nudged her, “if your husband finds out.”
“Which he won’t,” she fumbled for her lipstick, “and if I decide to leave my darling husband?”
“There could be a good chance you would strike gold with your personal assistant.”
She smiled and pushed the lipstick slowly upwards and licked her lips, I felt my manhood rising as we stared at it and then she shot me a sideways glance.
“Feel like a bit of overtime tonight?” she rubbed my leg
“Overtime, you mean?”
“Let’s just say we’re exploring new avenues. My stars for this month said that an exciting new romantic opportunity would come my way, if I was able to let go of the past.”
She puckered up and began applying her makeup while I watched her.
“Unless you think we’re overstepping our employer, employee relationship.”
“We probably are,” I stared out the window, “but the job description did say, and other duties as required,” I stroked her thigh.
“So what do you say to a little striptease tonight, you can do the full monty on me.”
Fiona winced and shot me a pained look.
“You had to mention stripping, I once considered a career as a pole dancer but that was back in the days when this sort of stuff wasn’t talked about.”
I rubbed her thigh.
“Tonight is good,” she finished her makeup, “my oldest daughter is off with her boyfriend, and my youngest is sleeping over at a friend’s place,” she stared at the warehouse, “John will be stuck in front of the tv, there’s an old Firm match tonight, so it will have to be your place.”
She smiled wolfishly.
“I might pick out something nice to wear.”
“Allow me,” I patted her pubic mound, “it’s part of my job description.”
As we downed a can of Irn Bru a few minutes later and waited for Danny to sort his paperwork, it occurred to me that my personal assistant role was running true to the last line of the advertisement, ‘and other duties as required.’
Tonight would be a night to remember.
Written by Alastair Rosie
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