I hadn't heard from him in six months.
We met online when he asked me to edit stories that he had written for Literotica. Not really met, but e-mailed back and forth. He was twice my age, but that didn't seem to inhibit him in the least. We loved to talk about music, art, our lifestyles, and sex. We restricted ourselves to communicating by e-mail and remained anonymous to each other. That was best. What a great six months it was. I have to admit that he turned me on with his stories and banter. I referred to him as my pen pal, Addicted, because of his Literotica pseudonym Addictedtonylon. He called me C, never knowing my first name. Eventually, the e-mails ceased; I think we both ran out of things to say.
He came to mind from time-to-time. I would occasionally reread the stories I had edited for him. I put him on my favorite authors list to keep track of his literary activities, but he never wrote again. On occasion, something would remind me of what we had talked about in our steamy exchanges. Recently, I had one of those days.
I was looking at the jewelry in Nordstrom and it caught my attention. A monogramed gold ring with an elaborately caligraphized "C" engraved on the face of the ring. He always started his e-mails with "Dear C." He relished hearing about my uninhibited sexual attitudes and created a new persona, my private persona, that no one else knew existed. I still like to escape into the aura he created for me, at least in my imagination.
I have a boyfriend. We live together and I love him very much, but there is a tempestuous, defiant, and prurient aspect of my personality he has never seen. Addicted knew this. He said I had entered the magic zone when I was naughty, enticing him with my literary and e-mailed eroticism.
So I bought the ring. I did not put it on immediately. I didn't know if I would ever wear it. If I did, will it reawaken my hidden personality once again?
About 10 days later, I was getting dressed for work. At the dressing table, I saw the clamshell box that contained the ring and opened it, deciding today was the day to wear it. I placed it on my fourth finger on my right hand, after removing the commonplace gold band I usually wore. I stood at my dresser for a few minutes, but felt no different. I went to my closet to choose my dress for the day. All the dresses I usually wore seemed mundane- I did not want to feel that today. At the back of the closet was a dress I had not worn recently. In fact, I had worn it only once. It wasn't exceptionally stylish, but it was sexy. A drop waist knit, flared at the bottom, and short, hemmed well above my knees, showing off my legs to perfection. Perhaps too short for work, I had thought the last time I wore it.
Most co-workers in the office would be at a convention today. It would only be me, and my administrative assistant managing the phone. I pulled out the dress, put it on, and looked at myself in the mirror. I did look good. I took out a pair of coffee shaded pantyhose. Addicted would be proud. He loved nylons on women, especially darker tones. I added my red high heels with a tiny strap around the ankle. They were definitely "fuck me" shoes with 3 ½ inch heels. Knowing again that Addicted would approve, I set off to work.
Intentionally, I stopped at the coffee shop and sipped my chai tea as I read the paper, causing a delay of 15 minutes later than my usual arrival time of 8:30 a.m. I was wearing a raincoat, which completely overwrapped my dress, but my legs and heels were evident. I walked into the office, my administrative assistant, Will, was at his desk.
"Hello Will, I think it's just you and me today. Everyone else is at the convention downtown," I said as I greeted him.
Now Will was nice enough, just about my age. He kept a picture of his wife on his desk. She is a trophy wife. She is tall and blonde, with high cheekbones, beautiful breasts and a perfect figure. I met her once or twice at company events, very aloof. I know Will needed to work a second job to provide for her clothing, spa, and gym memberships. In his drawer was another picture that I peeked at one day when he opened the drawer as I was staring over his shoulder. She was posed in a tight leotard, shiny nylons and leg warmers, all of which emphasized the perfection of her body. Did he use that picture for self-gratification, a substitute for the lack of physical interaction?
Marrying a trophy wife has its pluses, but also its minuses. I don't think Will gets much sex. He is always lingering in my office, gazing at my figure, staring at my breasts. While I don't encourage him, I am flattered that he finds me attractive.
So today, Will gets what he has wanted. Oh no, he won't touch me, but I will give him a taste of candy, so to speak. I went and sat at my desk. "Will, please go downstairs and get me an herbal tea?"
He paused not a moment, anxious to do my bidding. As he left, I looked down at the monogrammed ring and planned out what I would do to this boy-toy.
He stepped into my office with the cup of tea, and sat on the sofa at the corner my office. Turning to him, I crossed my legs, permitting him an eyeful of me. I could see his wandering eyes. I asked how his wife was, perhaps a cruel taunt in retrospect.
"She has left for a few days. There is a new spa and she wanted to rejuvenate her body." Will said, remorse was not evident in his voice.
"Thanks for bringing me the cup of tea, but there is one other thing I need done. They didn't empty my trash basket last night when they cleaned my office, and it is so full. Could you take it down to the bin at the end of the hall and empty it?"
With that, I pushed my chair somewhat aside, but my dangling leg still remained in the way of any entry to the underside of the desk. Will made his way over and got on his knees. He took his time staring at my ankle, including the little strap that secured my shoe. He could not resist a lingering look at my calf and thigh, clad in the smooth
,
slightly shiny nylon.
"Can you get by me?" I asked him in a coquettish tone. I uncrossed my legs, spread them slightly, positioning that dark tunnel between my thighs right at his eye level. His eyes stared longingly, before I turned slightly and he regained his composure.
He retrieved the trash basket and pulled it out. As he stood up, the bulge in his pants and his discomfort was a clear sign that the ruse was a success. As soon as he returned the trash basket, he excused himself. I knew he was headed for the men's room for some self-inflicted relief. I waited for several minutes, and then I headed towards the adjoining women's restroom. Perfect timing, he walked out adjusting his belt buckle.
"I hope those contortions under my desk didn't make you too stiff," I commented.
He could not help but smile, as if he knew he was being played with, and returned to his desk. I returned to mine and made many phone calls, trying to maintain a semblance of productivity.
