I'm a 53 year old senior executive who spends most of his time flying all over the country. My marriage of nearly 30 years is good but not hugely adventurous between the sheets. My wife prefers the more vanilla variety of sexual stimulation, still with Jayne at work my fantasies are fantastic.
I should explain. Jayne is my personal assistant, she knows mostly everything I'm thinking work wise but probably nothing about my thoughts regarding her and how I fantasise using her. It started off quite innocent, it always does! With just glances of her cleavage through an open blouse, a stolen glimpse of her stocking tops as she adjusts her legs behind the desk, picking out the bulge of garter clips underneath a tight skirt and so on.
Still if she didn't dress so invitingly my mind wouldn't be racing. Most days she will wear either short skirts or dresses and irrespective of length will always be wearing heels. How she manages to protect her modesty throughout the day I will never know. But I do treasure those glimpses of thigh and panty. She never seems shy of revealing cleavage either from behind a blouse with top buttons left open to reveal the fringe of her bra or from the plunging neckline of a figure hugging dress. Both showing a good proportion of those inviting deep, fleshy boobs just sitting there in need of some play.
The truth is, at 23 she is nearly half my age. In fact my daughter is older! But her long light brown, almost strawberry coloured hair, often loose around her face NEEDS my hand pulling it back from hiding her pale skin. Still I manage to remain professional and we are a great team. Professional that is, until one night when six of us go out for dinner. Three execs and their PA's, out for dinner, something we had been planning for months now and cancelled on numerous occasions for one reason or another. Until tonight! When everyone is available -- wives and girlfriends informed of a late work dinner!
Jayne and I walk to the bar to meet the others, her dress blowing around in the breeze. My eyes drifting around between her animated eyes, the movement of her dress as it catches my attention in the wind, her slender pale neck, her rouged lips as they mouth words in response to my own, her eyes as she engages me then looks away, the indent of her dress between her legs as the wind forces it against her body, her lips again -- how I want to taste those lips right now. I'm trying desperately to take in our conversation whilst my eyes try to glimpse everything and my mind struggles to process at these things at once. I feel her eyes tensing, and re-engage them to check to confirm the feeling, my eyes longing to return to the sight of her right breast wrestling in the black lace of her bra as she walks. Have I been caught gazing? I cagily check if all is okay and she tells me yes, just that I seem occupied. If only she knew.
Dinner is excellent, the company the same, and over time the conversation gradually degenerating to relationships and sex. The free flowing liquids, especially the bubbly variety lubricating the degree of detail provided. It never ceases to amaze me how women, PA's in particular, want and do, drink so much champagne! Still, in the discussions that evening when we were all required to disclose an embarrassing sexual admission, I had the sympathy of all when I declared that my wife refuses to give oral sex because of the risk of my cum in her mouth. She has always been like that -- I never declared the other women that I know are much less concerned with that outcome! Still that was in response to Jayne who managed to slur that she had fucked four guys to satisfy a fantasy of her then partner. That image was incredible and hard to shift from my mind.