Measurement Improves Performance

I met Sandy when she interviewed for a job with my company.

At the time, I owned a rapidly growing software company facing a changing market, and I desperately needed a new marketing director to guide our outreach efforts. I'd interviewed several people, all qualified but not "world-class." I'd long ago learned that you hire only the very best, even if you must interview an unbelievable number of applicants.

Sandy was yet another in the parade. She had an impressive resume: an excellent education, relevant experience, knowledge of the industry, and documented successful marketing campaigns. She was also local, not requiring relocation.

I went through my usual description of the company and the challenges, then asked if she had any questions. She did, and plenty of them, almost all of them requiring me to think. She came across as intelligent, cute, and sassy. More than appealing, extremely attractive, both in looks and personality.

I started through my usual interview questions, which she handled effortlessly, but something was bothering me, a twinge of warning that I couldn't grasp. I wanted to offer her the job, but something held me back. Something that annoyingly eluded me.

I opened the conversation about salary requirements and expectations, but I ended up saying, "I'd like to offer you this job, but that would cause me a problem. I'd rather ask you out on a date, and I couldn't do that if you were my employee."

It didn't help that she smirked and then asked, "What kind of a date did you have in mind?"

"I dunno. Dinner and a play? Dinner and dancing? A concert?"

Her reply didn't help my confusion. "Yes," she said.

"Yes, to what?"

"Dinner and a play. Dinner and dancing. A concert. All the above."

The first date was at a quiet, intimate French restaurant. So, I wasn't surprised when she conversed with the chef...in French. We had a lovely time, shared our past stories, and talked about our dreams. We'd arrived in separate cars. As we left the restaurant, she kissed me quickly and took off.

She invited me on the second date, a roadshow of a famous Broadway play. We had a light, late dinner. Afterward, we shared a long and romantic kiss and went home in our respective cars.

For the third date, I invited her, told her it was a surprise, and offered to pick her up at her apartment. She accepted. The surprise was an elaborate dinner in a private room at an exclusive French restaurant prepared personally by the chef and accompanied by some excellent wines. I wasn't surprised when she conversed with the chef in French. The chef asked her to name her favorite dessert, which turned out to be crème brûlée. He prepared it with great flair specifically for her and drank a toast to an "extraordinarily beautiful woman."

I drove her home, and she asked me up for a "nightcap."

She had a gorgeous, massive apartment with some beautiful antiques and a view of the city lights. I couldn't imagine what she did with all that space, and I said so; after that, she offered to show me her "hobby," leading me to a room just off the kitchen. It was an entire room filled with racks of collectible lingerie from past eras, some of it having been worn in memorable movies by well-known stars.

Most prominent were racks of elaborate nightgowns, but there were also display cases for more intimate undergarments, including an entire wall of brassieres. I couldn't help but laugh and offer my admiration for the extent of the collection. I also commented that I had no idea there were that many ways of supporting and displaying a woman's breasts.

She pulled one nightgown off its hanger, draped it in front of her body, and twirled to show it off. When she offered to model it, I couldn't say "no." Sandy opened a bottle of wine, poured each of us a glass, sat me in the living room, and promised to be "right back."

I noticed I was unusually nervous, which isn't like me, and sat stiffly on the couch with a glass of wine in my hand that I didn't even sip.

She came pirouetting into the room, an incredible site. There should have been fanfare and a spotlight. The gown was as beautiful as the woman inside it. It was gold, long and slinky, with a lace bodice accentuating her breasts; she wore gold high-heeled sandals.

She plopped herself in my lap, allowing me a view of her breasts, which were lightly encased in satin lace. She took the wine glass from my hand, sat it on the coffee table, put her hands behind my head, and kissed me long and hard, which I reciprocated. Then she slid off my lap, pulled me up so I stood before her, kissed me lightly, and commanded, "follow me," while grabbing my hand and pulling me behind her.

Her bedroom was as beautiful as the remainder of the apartment, with erotic Japanese prints on the walls, except the wall with a huge mirror that paralleled the king-size bed.

She kissed me even more passionately and began unbuttoning my shirt. I hastened to help, soon standing before her wearing only my boxer shorts.

This time I reached out, pulled her to me and kissed her energetically and with lots of tongue. Meanwhile, I couldn't resist, and my hands cupped her breasts through the material.

"Is this what you want to do?" I inquired, making it clear that she controlled what happened next.

"Yes. Very much," she whispered in my ear. "But be gentle. It's been a long time."

Then she dropped to her knees, pushed down my shorts, and took me deep into her mouth, deep enough that I could feel the back of her throat. I was too turned on to let that continue for long and said so, holding her head while I pulled away.

"You're very good at that," I commented, "and I'll enjoy it again. But let's do this together, slowly and romantically."

She sat on the side of the bed, opened a drawer in the nightstand, and removed a bottle of lube. "We may need this," she explained.

I asked, "Are you OK with us wrinkling this beautiful gown? Shouldn't we be careful because it's part of your collection?"

Sandy laughed, "What we're about to do is why I have this collection. If we can't enjoy them, then I shouldn't collect them. The dry cleaners can restore them."

She kicked off the shoes, then lay back, revealing that she was wearing stockings held up by golden garters attached to a garter belt. I lay down next to her, rolled over to look down into her eyes, and kissed her again. My erect cock was poking her side through the fabric. Her response was eager and demanding.

As we kissed, my hands roamed again to her breasts, and her hand grabbed my cock. I leaned in to kiss a nipple through the lace, then moved my lips up, kissing her neck, her ear, and back to her mouth.

She pushed up against me, offering her breasts, and I kissed each of them through the fabric. Finally, she stopped fondling my cock long enough to reach up and untie the thin neck strap that held up the bodice. I took the hint and opened the bodice, revealing her glorious breasts and perky nipples. I cupped one breast with my hand while lowering my mouth to the nipple of her other breast, kissing, sucking, lightly biting, and teasing with the tip of my tongue.

Her hand tightened around my cock, and she rapidly stroked it.

"I want you in me, now," she commanded. "Please!" She pulled the skirt of the gown up to her waist, revealing that she was not wearing panties, then pulled me on top of her.

I slid one finger inside her, finding her very tight and not very wet. I broke from the embrace long enough to reach for the lube, lifted myself off enough to pour some in my hand and rub it all along my cock, then I put a dab on the tip of my finger and slid it inside her.

"Thank you," she said, grabbing my slippery cock and guiding it to her entrance.

She was tight, tighter than any woman I'd ever been with. I pushed in slowly, halting several times to ensure she was OK. Her hands were on my butt, pulling me it, but I kept up the slow pace until I was entirely inside.

"Stay there for a moment, please. Let me enjoy this," she whispered, still pulling on my ass.

I kissed her again, deeply and passionately, and she responded. I pushed one hand between us, so I could fondle her breasts and tweak a nipple, which got a positive response.

I slowly pulled back a little, then pushed back in, repeating that slow, short stroke several times. Each time she pushed up to meet me.

"I'm not going to last much longer," I whispered. "You feel wonderful, and I haven't been with a woman in over a year. What can I do to help you?"

"Don't be concerned about me," she said as she blew in my ear. "I feel wonderful just having you inside. Cum inside me now."

I picked up the pace, she responded, and I was soon flooding her with cum. My climax lasted a long time. She was thrashing beneath me, holding me deep inside.

When I was finally empty, she clutched me, sloppily kissing all over my face and holding me tightly against her chest. Then, again, she asked me to "Just stay there. Let me savor the feeling."

In response, I tightened the muscles in the cock. "Do that again," she commanded. So, I did, several times. Then began to withdraw.

She reluctantly let me pull away. I slipped off the bed, found her bathroom, cleaned myself up, located a washcloth, dampened it with warm water, and took it to her. She clamped it between her thighs, slid off the bed, and into the bathroom.

I lay back on the bed, satiated, relaxed, and comfortable.

Sandy returned and flopped on top of me, eagerly kissing.

"I'm thirsty," she said. "Should I get the wine, or would you prefer something else?"

"Wine is fine. Would you like me to get it?"

She slid off the bed, wiggled her butt at me, and padded into the outer room, soon returning with the two partially full glasses and the bottle. I sat up, still naked, she sat next to me, and we sipped wine with our shoulders touching.

"I hope you're up for the second round," Sandy grinned.

"I hope so, too," was my response.

Then I asked, "You said it had been a long since you last had sex. I find that difficult to believe. You're a beautiful and very sexy woman who should have an excess of male admirers."

"I got badly burned and gave up on men," she reluctantly admitted. "I stupidly got involved with a married man who told me he was getting divorced. I don't know if that was a lie or if he just changed his mind. We were planning our life together when he suddenly dumped me. I don't know if he returned to his wife or just had another girlfriend. I threw myself into my work and started collecting sexy nightwear from past eras."

Then she asked, "Why hasn't some woman claimed you? You're pretty sexy yourself. I can't believe you haven't had sex for over a year."

"I was in a long-term relationship with a young woman I met in graduate school, and I thought we would end up married. However, after I started my company, she became increasingly distant and finally broke off the relationship because she didn't want to be a 'start-up widow.' She had a valid point. Starting a company is more than a full-time job. I frequently worked all night and was often immersed in either raising money or finding customers for our software. It's only been a few months since I felt the business was under control, and I could relax. However, it still demands most of my attention."

"Does that mean this is a 'one-night stand'?" she softly asked. I could hear the concern in her voice.

"I sure hope not," I replied. "You had me hooked when I first saw you. Your insightful questions during the interview roped me in. I don't want a 'sex object;' I want a partner."

She slobbered kisses on me, then whispered, "Well, partner, let's see what we can do together."

She grabbed my flaccid cock and began to slide down my body, but I stopped her and slid down her body, flipped up the nightgown, ran my hands up her stocking-covered legs, then leaned in and let my tongue swipe her slit. The resulting moan told me I'd hit the right target, and I dove in.

My hands were tweaking her nipples, and my tongue worked her vagina. Her legs were clasped around my head. When her body began to push back, I swiped my tongue across her clit, which caused her whole body to tremble.

She grabbed my head and pushed me away from her crotch. "You've got me turned on," she announced. "Let me get you ready."

I was already erect, but she insisted I lay on my back while she mouthed my cock. When she decided I was ready, she positioned herself with one leg on either side of me, kissed me firmly, and held her body off me while leaning down and rubbing her nipples across mine. She reached for the lube, put a generous dollop on the tip of my cock, then slid back, reached under, grabbed my cock, and settled down, so the tip was in her vagina. She rocked gently, back and forth, and it felt like I was getting a blowjob from her pussy lips. I had to stop her before she brought me to the point where I couldn't hold back. She pushed further back, taking me deep inside. She was still incredibly tight.

She was pushing her clit against my pubic bone, rising slightly. And slamming back down, I was doing everything I could to hold back. Finally, I reached up to tweak her nipples, and she leaned into me so I could suck them.

"Bite them," she ordered. I did. She slammed against me and announced, "Omigod, I'm cumming. Bite me again."

I did, and I felt her entire body begin to spasm. That triggered my ejaculation, and we came together for an unusually long time.

She flopped against my chest. We were both entirely spent and off in some dream place.

I have no idea how long we lay like that. I may have fallen asleep. Or maybe she did. At some point, she rolled off me and backed up against me, I laid an arm over her side to cup a breast, and we both fell asleep.

Over the next several weeks, we had many delightful occasions sampling the various lingerie pieces in Sandy's collection. Some of those pieces had been worn in movies featuring famous actresses. Sandy would make up a role-play with herself as the renowned actress and me as the lucky guy she summoned for a night of sex. On another occasion, she created a Cinderella-like story where I was Prince Charming, she was Cinderella, and we had to fuck before midnight, or she would turn into a pumpkin. For one of her favorites, she cast herself as a courtesan whom I had summoned for the night, requiring her to do whatever I demanded. I rather enjoyed that one. However, there was also the opposite: she was the queen and summoned me to serve her.

I eventually learned that she was addicted to performing blowjobs, although not always in the privacy of our home. That added an exciting, surprise element to our relationship; she tended to pick times and locations where there was a risk of being discovered: in my office, in a spare bedroom at someone's cocktail party, in the parking lot of a restaurant, in a park, in the restroom of a grocery store, in the dressing room of a department store where she was trying on lingerie, and under a blanket in the first class section of an airline.

Sandy helped me hire a great (older) woman to take on the job she had initially been interviewed for, then helped me guide her marketing efforts. At one point, I suggested she become co-CEO, which she declined, saying she'd "rather be the mistress of the CEO."

"Mistress" was soon replaced with "wife," The wedding night featured a parade of honeymoon lingerie she ordered from stores across Europe, primarily Italy. I should mention that "the wedding night" lasted three days.

We weren't just good sex partners; we turned out to be great project partners. We built an incredible house together, agreeing immediately on almost everything. We landscaped the yard together. We skied together. We even fly-fished together, although she quickly caught trout while I frequently didn't. And she was a great sounding board for the ideas offered by the marketing director I did hire.

Three years after we married, we were on a sparsely populated segment of Seven-Mile beach on Grand Cayman, where she had just performed one of her superb blowjobs when she asked, "Are you ready to start a family?"

She was good at this marketing thing: we were both relaxed and satiated, the view was magnificent, it was warm and sunny with just enough breeze to keep the bugs away, the waves were lapping at the shore, and we'd enjoyed a bottle of wine with lunch.

I wasn't entirely caught off guard. We'd had some exploratory conversations, but I'd never confronted the decision. I knew she had a well-prepared sales script that was very carefully orchestrated. So rather than draw out a negotiation I'd surely lose (or win, depending upon your perspective), I said, "Yes."

She gave me a sloppy kiss, then offered, "Good answer because I already stopped taking my birth control pills."

After a pause to observe my reaction, she stood up, pulled me up, let her hand wander a bit, and suggested, "I think it's time for a nap."

We didn't get any sleep. After a lovely lobster dinner and a bottle of wine, we again didn't get any sleep.

After a couple of months with no apparent results, Sandy consulted her ob-gyn. That evening she explained the "new" program: she would track her temperature multiple times each day, providing a clue as to when she was most fertile. Meanwhile, she had a calendar on which we would record every time we "made love."

I can, without hesitancy, state that "measurement improves performance" and that there was soon very little space left on the calendar.

Sandy also took the initiative in creating other enticements. Her lingerie wardrobe expanded rapidly. She discovered a nearby "adult" motel with rooms featuring waterbeds, hot tubs, and continuous porn videos. (This was long before the Internet brought myriad varieties of porn to every computer.) In retrospect, she treated "baby making" like any other project we had shared.

After a couple more months, she began calling me at work, telling me I needed to come home to deal with a significant problem. When I arrived, she would be lying on the bed, dressed in something sexy, and using her vibrator to prepare while I got out of my suit. Then, half an hour later, I'd be back in my suit and headed back to the office.

Summer arrived, and the locations for our efforts moved into our backyard and, on a few occasions, off a hiking trail in the mountains. Since we no longer required a bed, we "practiced" with her leaning over the kitchen table, on the living room floor, in a neighborhood park very late at night, in a dark parking lot with her leaning over the hood of the car, and any number of other creative locales.

Late summer featured our annual company-sponsored golf tournament, held at a nearby mountain town, followed by a banquet and overnight stay. I played my usual mediocre game of golf, enjoying the camaraderie of my employees and some of their spouses. I'd organized a backcountry tour for those who didn't wish to play golf, complete with a picnic and wine. By dinner, everyone was slightly tipsy and in a partying mood.

Dinner was very festive, with laughter, good gags, and plenty of noise. I presented some awards for various achievements on the golf course, we danced to an OK local band, and finally retreated to our respective rooms.

Sandy had been busy shopping while everyone else was otherwise engaged. The bed was covered with various lingerie items when I exited the bathroom. "Which would you prefer for our first encounter tonight," she asked, standing before me wearing only a black bra and black panties.

She held each in turn, modeling them until the bed was one big pile of nylon and lace.

"All of them," I said jokingly.

"OK," she replied and proceeded to don them, one on top of another until most of her was obscured by multiple layers. At that point, she flopped on the bed and motioned me to join her.