My Vietnamese Secretary

I'm taking the flight back from Tokyo to Hanoi on Wednesday night after three hectic days trying to close a deal with the Marubeni Corporation. Unfortunately, it needs more work and I'll be back in Japan with some of my senior team from Vietnam in a few weeks.

After checking in, while waiting in the JAL business class lounge, I'd called my chief of staff, Nguyet, and told her I was on my way back. Since I will be going to Saigon with her tomorrow, I told her to check us into a hotel so I wouldn't have to go home just for a few hours. Nguyet, in addition to running my personal office, also heads up the Business Development function of our firm in Hanoi.

As I've mentioned before, I'm French and I work for a large engineering corporation headquartered in Paris. We have offices worldwide, and I head the Asia-Pacific region. Essentially, my regional office is in New Delhi, India but I've based myself out of Hanoi, Vietnam for the last year or so. I travel extensively to a large number of countries in Asia, and I'm now returning from one of those trips.

My sister, whom I have not been in regular contact with over the last several years, lives in Kyoto, Japan. The previous weekend, I had decided to visit her, so although my business meetings were in Tokyo from Monday, I had come to Japan last Friday and spent the weekend with her, Halina. It had been an absolutely mind-blowing torrid experience; we had met after a number of years and dusted away the cobwebs of our past. And discovered a new love between each other.

And the sex had been beyond anything I had ever imagined. Even now, as I sit gazing out of the window from the relative luxury of my flat bed seat, I can feel a stirring in my groin as the memories come back. I had been sorely tempted to take the Shinkansen bullet train back to Kyoto after the last of my meetings this afternoon, but had resisted the temptation. I shake my head in a conscious attempt to leave the memories behind and concentrate instead on what I need to achieve during my next two days in Ho Chi Minh City.

I'm looking forward to meeting Nguyet in a few hours. She's a very beautiful Vietnamese lady, a divorced mother, and an absolutely irreplaceable member of my senior management team in Vietnam. And we've been part-time lovers as well; actually just one extended night some months ago. She has medium length hair, dark shiny black, that falls straight down to her collar bones in front. She's about 5'2" or 5'3", somewhere in her early or mid-thirties, wears glasses, has incredibly smooth skin, and never wears make-up. She has wonderfully sexy legs that distract me whenever she wears a skirt to office.

Japan Airlines flight number JL751 from Narita lands at Noi Bai International Airport at 10:19 pm local time, four minutes late. Less than ten minutes after touchdown, I step off the aircraft on to the aerobridge and walk to immigration, then pick up my baggage from the carousel, walk past customs and through the exit door at 10:45; all very efficient. I immediately spot Tung, our office driver, and see that he's managed to bribe the police again into letting him park the BMW 750i at the curb directly in front of the arrival lounge.

I light a cigarette and take a few pulls while Tung places my luggage into the boot of the sedan. I'm carrying a paper bag which contains a large box of chocolates and a small blue velvet box with a light pink ribbon around it. I stub out the cigarette and drop it into the curbside ashtray as the driver opens the car door for me. I thank him and step in. Not entirely to my surprise, Nguyet is sitting inside behind the driver's seat. I smile at her, not saying a word. The happiness that lights up her pretty face is clearly visible in the subdued illumination.

When the driver shuts his door, the light goes off and I stretch out my left arm over the arm-rest. Nguyet slips her tiny hand into my palm and I close my fist around it. I turn to look at her face and again, like always, marvel at the oriental beauty of this delicate woman. A slight shiver runs down my spine as I inhale the exquisite aroma of her perfume. We continue to sit in silence as the car quietly goes past the toll gate and heads towards the freeway.

At the next traffic light where we stop, I extract the small velvet box from the paper bag before leaning forward and place the chocolates on the front passenger seat, saying "Tung, this is for your children, don't eat it yourself." He laughs and thanks me profusely as the light turns green and he sets off to the city. With the smaller box now in my hands, I turn towards Nguyet and see her looking at me, the most beatific smile adorning her face.

I slip off the pink ribbon slowly, open the blue velvet box and take out a delicate rice-pearl bracelet that's tinged with a rosy hue. Reaching out my hand again, I take hold of Nguyet's wrist and clasp the bracelet around it. It's a little loose because of how thin her wrist is, but looks very pretty on her fair skin. I hear a small gasp of breath from her and look up to see the moistness glistening in her eyes. She still has a smile, but there seems to be a little pain in her eyes too. I want to lean across and kiss her, use my lips to wipe away the stray tear drop that has just begun to trickle down the left side of her face. But of course I don't.

Fortunately, or so I hope, Tung the driver is unable to see any of this since Nguyet is directly behind him and not visible in his rear view mirror. I sit back straight and look ahead, noticing that we've just crossed the new Nhat Tan bridge. There's a deep emotional feeling coursing through my veins, my heart's beating faster than it normally does. This is strange; I know I like Nguyet very much, we have more than just an office relationship going, but why am I feeling this way. There's a certain heaviness around my chest and my brain seems stuffed with a thick fog.

At Narita airport, while walking to the lounge, I had impulsively stopped at a Mikimoto pearl shop. Trying to drive away the residual memories of my weekend three days ago with my sister, I had pushed myself to think of work and Vietnam. Somewhere, in a corner of my brain, I was missing something. The two and a half days with Halina had made me forget everything to do with my real world; it was like the weekend in a dream, unconnected to anything else.

But during the last three days of tough negotiations trying to broker a deal, I had thought of Nguyet often. I had wanted her by my side in the board room talking to a dozen impassive Japanese gentlemen. I had needed her business acumen and understanding of the oriental psyche on more than one occasion. And now, as she sits next to me in the car, despite the heaviness that I feel in my being, there is also a wonderful sense of peace and security that her aura always seems to envelop me with.

She reaches out and takes my hand, drawing it to her chest and placing it on the rise of her bosom. I can feel the distinctive beating of her heart, faster than normal, as I turn to look at her. I cannot discern an expression on her face but I know she is thanking me for the gift, and I know she is extremely happy at my return. Although I am averse to admitting it, I often feel a deep love for this woman; a love that frequently transcends the hidden sexual energy that is always present when I am with her.

After we get off the bridge and exit the highway almost immediately, I realize that we're not heading for the Sofitel Legend Metropole Hotel where I thought Nguyet would have booked our rooms. Instead we're on the Nghi Tam road and I think we're either going to the Sofitel Plaza or the Sheraton. A few minutes later we turn off towards Xuan Dieu and I know we'll be spending the night at the Sheraton.

Tung pulls up to the portico and gets out to open the door for Nguyet while a lady from the hotel opens my door, welcoming us to the Sheraton. Nguyet has a word with the driver who then wishes us goodnight and promises to pick us up in the morning for our drive to the airport again. Once inside the lobby, she has a conversation at the front desk, and walks me to the elevator. We go straight up to one of the Ambassador suites where she slips in a key card and enters the room ahead of me. Four minutes later, while she's in the washroom, my luggage gets delivered and I slip the lad a 50,000 dong note.

As I'm waiting for Nguyet to come out of the bathroom, I notice another suitcase in the bedroom and realize that she'd already checked in to the hotel before coming to pick me up at the airport. I'm surprised that she didn't get herself another room but happy nevertheless. I hear the sound of the WC flush and the door of the washroom open as I sit on the couch, facing the huge window that is overlooking the city's largest lake. The lights inside the room are dimly lit so I can see the sparkling waters of the lake, 10 floors below.

I know she's removed her shoes because I can hear her bare feet padding across the carpeted floor of the suite, and a few seconds later her hands are on my shoulders as she stands behind me. I see her reflection in the floor to ceiling window opposite me. She's wearing a black filigreed dress, but it's looking different. In the car, on the way from the airport, I had noticed the dress as one that she never wore to office; black latticework that she had worn over a contrasting white undergarment. But now I couldn't see the white any more.

As she comes around the settee, I take one of her hands in mine and look up at her face. She's now in front of me, standing between my thighs and staring down into my eyes. Beneath the dress, through the interlace, I see her black brassiere; she's removed the slip from under her garment. She takes my face in both her hands, stroking my cheeks and jaw with her fingertips. I reach out and place my palms on her hips, pulling her forward towards me.

Leaning forward, I rest my face against the flat of her stomach, feeling the texture of her dress against my skin. My arms go around her and I let my palms traverse the firm contours of her arse, rubbing along the perfectly shaped curves. And then, the pace begins to speed up. Her fingers are now unbuttoning my shirt, starting from the one near my collar and then dexterously down the length of my shirt. She pulls the apparel up and out from where it's tucked in to my trousers and undoes the last button.

Pushing the lapels apart, she draws the garment off my shoulders and pushes it down my arms till she finds that my cuff links still hold the cuffs together. Removing them, she places them on a side table and then helps me off with the shirt. She then pulls up my vest and I raise my arms upwards so she can remove it, and drop it in one corner of the sofa. My hands are back on her buttocks, caressing the firmness with a growing sense of urgency. I'm sitting half naked now as Nguyet straightens up and stands before me, her eyes glowing in the subdued lamplight.

"Would you like a drink, Hjjer?" Without waiting for a response, Nguyet goes across to the minibar and extracts two Jack Daniels 50ml miniatures and a small bottle of red wine. She pours the two whiskeys into one glass, throws in a couple of cubes of ice, and brings it over to me. Then going back to the cabinet, she finds a wineglass and pours the wine till it's half full. She comes back, we click glasses, and silently take a first sip. I follow that through with a large gulp and the bourbon goes down my throat nicely.

It's probably approaching midnight and I ask her what time our flight departs for Saigon in the morning. She's sitting next to me on the couch now, so she leans into me and whispers, "The flight's not in the morning. It's at 12:00 noon, and our meeting with Mr. Nguyen Than Nho is at 6:00 pm. The Mayor said to join him for dinner at the Hotel Nikko." I take another large sip of the whiskey, place it on the table beside me, and then turn towards my Vietnamese lover. Her face rests warmly on my naked torso as I raise one hand to caress her cheek.

Sometimes quite brazenly, and on other occasions rather surreptitiously, while at work I look longingly at this lady, wanting to touch her in the most intimate way possible. I lose myself in the movement of her lips while she's talking; I stare at her cleavage wanting to plunge my hand into her blouse and fondle her breasts; I look at her thighs when her skirt rides up as she sits in front of me on the armchair in my office, wanting to run my palm all the way to her crotch.

But now, she's here with me, barely any space between us. I cup her chin and tilt her head up and lean forward towards her. As my mouth approaches her lips, I see her close her eyes and tilt her head backwards slightly. When my lips touch hers, there's an electric spark of energy that sends ripples through my entire body. She opens her mouth and the warmth of her breath douses me like a mysterious vapor surrounding me with a foggy blanket of love and passion.

I enclose her in my arms, pulling her towards me and I feel her body snuggle up against me. Our lips move in smooth arcs, roving, discovering, drinking in each other's inner heat. My palms run over the netting of her dress as I caress her back, tracing the shoulder blades up to the back of her neck. Her hair has grown longer over the last few months, and now falls down to a third of her back. Her kisses are soft and delicate as her lips maneuver over mine.

I push my tongue into her open mouth and feel the sultry wetness inside. The sharp edges of her teeth brush against the underside of my tongue as I push it as deep inside as I can. My roving hands are now down by her hips and I dig them under her bottom till she is sitting on my palms. I can feel my temperature rising, my cock is expanding to its full length and thickness under my cotton briefs. A sudden flow of adrenalin courses through my veins as I lift up Nguyet's light weight, my hands still on her arse, and pull her over my thighs.

I keep my legs together as Nguyet straddles them, her dress riding up her thighs. She takes my face in her hands and plants her lips on mine, kissing hard as she shoves her tongue deep into my mouth. I suck her in, drawing the breath out of her as our mouths fuse over each other. With my hands still under her arse, I pull up the hem of her dress from under her. Her thighs are wide apart as she hangs her legs on either side of mine. I pull her one-piece dress up and she raises her hands as I draw it off her body. She now sits on my lap wearing a black brassiere and panties.

She leans into me, her bosom presses against my chest as she throws her arms around my neck. My hands are on the bare skin of her back. I stroke her gently, running my fingers over the smoothness. Her lips are against the nape of my neck and I can feel the tip of her tongue against the taut muscles as she leaves a cool trail of wetness. I find the fastener of her bra behind her and deftly unhook the two clasps, freeing the undergarment. I then slip the straps off her shoulder and she allows me to pull it away.

Feeling the coolness of her naked skin against my chest, my mind is transported into a paradise of its own making. The last time this beautiful woman and I made love, in fact the only occasion, was a few months ago, a weekend idyll (https://www.literotica.com/s/my-vietnamese-secretary-pt-03) that left me craving for so much more. Now I'm moving into a familiar zen like zone where I allow all my senses to take control of my body, the brain moving into auto pilot. Everything is pure instinct as I banish logical thought.

Cradling her with my arms firmly around her back, I lean forward into her and bend my head so that my face is against her chest. Bending further, I find one of her nipples with my mouth and draw it between my lips, feeling the hardened knob against my tongue. Her panty covered crotch rubs against my groin, the massive bulge in my trousers pushing hard against her genitals. I move my mouth to her other nipple and begin sucking it, lashing the pebble like hardness with my tongue. I run circles around it, letting the tip of my tongue run along the puckered aureola as Nguyet lets out a muted moan.

Leaning back against the secure nest of my arms which surround her, my mouth moving over her breasts and nipples, she is gyrating her hips with her crotch against my erection. Her breathing is heavy, her eyes shut, as she soaks up the sensations through her cunt. She pushes hard against my legs, rubbing and grating herself against my swollen cock. I pull her upwards and my mouth moves to hers; our lips hard against one another's as I feel a desperate urge to ram myself into her.

Instead, I stand up, carrying her easily; her legs lock around my waist as she clutches on to my neck with her arms around it and buries her face in the curvature between my neck and shoulders. I bend down and lower her gently on to the long powder blue sofa I had been sitting on, her head resting on a cushion at one end. Her knees are still bent and held close together as I move to the other end of the couch, my hands finding her ankles.

I leave her legs folded at the knee but distance her feet so that her thighs are now apart. I clear the space by removing the large cushions near her feet and throwing them over the backrest. Parting her legs as far apart as possible, I bend down between her thighs and nuzzle the silken fabric of her panties. They're soaking wet at the crotch and I can smell the musky aroma and taste the raisin like sweetness that seeps through her thick bushy undergrowth. I remember distinctly from the last time we made love, the trimmed outlines of her pubic hair but also the rich growth that surrounds her vaginal opening.

Her scent is provocative, and the taste is powerful as I pull aside the panty and part the hair and her labia with my fingers before pushing my tongue into her cunt. She brings her hand down to her bush, possibly an involuntary action or maybe a typical oriental shyness at visually revealing her pussy to a man. But as my tongue rims her opening, I notice that the tip of her finger hovers delicately over her hooded clitoris, a gentle stimulation accompanying my mouth.

I pull her panty further out as I marvel at the thick growth of her forested entrance, feeling the spidery tickle of curly hair against my lips and tongue. The undergrowth is mushy and wet, partly due to my saliva and partially on account of her own juices. I inhale the deep overpowering aroma of her scent and breathe it in deeply while my tongue roves across the swollen lips of her entrance. Nguyet moans loudly and I feel her fingers now clutching the curls of my hair; first with one hand, then with both as she pulls me against her.

"Hjjer! I love you", she whispers, her fingers almost tearing at the tufts of my mane that she has entangled with. "Ohhh! Hjjer! Hjjer! I love you" she almost whimpers, her breath coming in short gasps. I continue to rub my tongue all over her cunt, sucking occasionally, pulling droplets of her nectar into my mouth. I raise my hands towards her breasts and find the erect nipples centered on her perfectly moulded orbs; my fingers draw circles around her nipples as my tongue continues to lash her pussy.

I'm clutching her breasts, massaging them in a circular motion and I begin to probe her grotto with my tongue, pushing it deeper. But the elastic hem of her panties begins to close in and I have to free one hand to keep it aside. And then Nguyet unentangles her fingers from my hair and I briefly fret about what she's going to do. A fractional moment of fear rips through me as I remember the first night we were together months ago, when she suddenly stopped all proceedings and had to go home. But of course she made up in spades the following day.

She places her fingers into the elastic band of her panties and begins to shove them down her legs. I raise my head and place my hands under her arse, hooking my fingers into band of her undies and pull them past her buttocks and hips. Hurriedly I push them down her smooth thighs and rip them past her ankles, dropping them to the floor beyond her feet. She grabs my head and pulls me down over her cunt, spreading her legs wide as my mouth touches her labia.