"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.
"Yes, definitely, Sir, yes..." she confessed. That was all I needed to know and I left....
Later that day an office courier delivered a sealed hand written note. "Thank you for asking," she wrote, "I have wanted you to know, Sir."
******
For days I pondered the letter, thinking of what I now knew about her. I knew I had cross a line and could never step back. We could never act on her desires or mine but just the knowledge of how the proper, sophisticated and sexy Mrs. George would submit herself seduced me. I began obsessing over her secret, her submission goading me to act and inflating my ego- a sublime and toxic mixture.
Then visual reverie set in, images of what I would do with her, each time a different scenario played out in my mind until I found the perfect one. It was cold. It was brutal. It was greedy. I do not know if she would have liked it- I think she would have- but I found it profoundly tantalizing:
"Get on your knees," I told her after shutting her office door. I watched as she dropped, not expecting to hear the demand ever again, complaint as the last time, but nervousness in her eyes, this time not expecting what I intended as I stepped behind her.
"Get that head down," I commanded as I lifted her skirt over her hips to reveal her lusty thighs, panties, garters and stockings.
