"Yes, Sir," she replied in response to whether she understood what I expected.
"Look, I appreciate your respect but you don't need to refer to me with such formality. We have worked together for so many years and we are only five years apart," I replied.
"I know, but that is just who I am," she replied.
"No really, we know each other all to well," I protested for what I hoped would be the last time ever.
"But I like it this way," she replied, "You know that, right?"
"Well, if you insist, Mrs. George," I replied playfully.
"Thank you, Sir," she responded, a smirk of satisfaction on her face.
I left her office and reflected on what the forty something, proper and sophisticated woman had just said and the ever present unmentioned sexual tension between us.
The next day I entered her office unannounced and closed the door. She looked up at me and waited to be addressed.
"Get on your knees," I sternly whispered.
"Please, we can't do this, I'm married, you are married," she protested.
"I don't care," I said, "Trust me." Then she eagerly sank to the floor, her beautiful stocking clad knees peering out from under the rising hem of her expensive business skirt. She looked down, her hands folded in her lap. I stepped forward, bringing the front of my pants close to her face. Then I made her wait in silence for what must have seemed an eternity to her.
"And if you were not married, would you?" I quietly asked.
