All characters are fictional and over 18 years of age.
Although it was a scenario that they had acted out several times, he still felt excited as he approached her office door. Fay was in her mid-forties and a middle manager in the company. He held a senior position, though she was not directly under his jurisdiction. They had flirted at an office Christmas party and ended up sneaking back into the workplace while everyone else got drunk in the bar. They had quickie sex on her desk. It had been evident even on that occasion that she liked to be in charge. He had never found much appeal in male submission until then (though, like many men, he secretly liked the idea of female subservience!) Not that he considered it a fetish; it simply added variety to sex.
The relationship he was currently in was new and as yet half-casual, so he did not consider it unfaithful to carry on with Fay – or Ms. Lewis, as he called her during their encounters.
He usually liked women to be reasonably busty, a B-cup minimum, preferably C-cup (like his current girlfriend) or more. Fay was very small-chested, an A-cup. But there was something inherently sexy about her. Maybe her slender frame and her long shapely legs (they were halfway between plump and skinny, that is to say near-perfect!) were simply a refreshing change to his usual preference. Perhaps the fact that she was a dozen years or so older than he was made her seem so sexy. Partly it was the smart but modest way that she dressed.
A large part of her sex appeal for him was her face, though. She was attractive rather than beautiful or even pretty. Her eyes were quite pale and she had reddish-brown, straight hair that was cut fairly short. Her modest lips were slightly glossed in a shade of ping that contrasted nicely with her skin without being too brash. She had a naturally rather aloof facial expression. This proud air had undoubtedly helped her career – though she was conscientious and thorough in all she did, and had earned her promotions. But her manner made her inscrutable, and gave her an advantage in meetings.
More recently he had realised that it made her appear powerful. And Ms Lewis liked to feel powerful.
He knocked on the office door and went in. She was sitting at her desk facing the door and reading a magazine. She was wearing a mid-blue dress with buttons from the neckline to the hem. It was tight enough over her little breasts for their alluring size and shape to be visible. She was holding a cigarette to her mouth. Her pink lips were pouting around the end of the cigarette. She made a point of looking at her watch before looking at him disdainfully.
"You're late," she announced. She did not raise her voice or even speak harshly. She merely said it as a statement, a fact that he needed to take note of.
He closed the door and walked towards her desk. Her face was expressionless and indifferent as she looked at him before looking back at her magazine and inhaling on her cigarette.
"I... I'm sorry Ms. Lewis. I..."
"I don't want excuses. I can always find someone else to fucking do this if need be, you know. And to have your job."
He blushed with delight at her strong language and commanding tone.
"Yes. Miss. Sorry, Miss."
"Just get on with it."
She drew deeply on her cigarette and swung her wheeled chair sideways and away from her desk. He knelt before her. His hands were trembling. He stroked her thigh through the soft, warm fabric of her dress. It felt slightly silky to his touch. He glanced up. She was still looking at her magazine and smoking her cigarette.
He undid the bottom three buttons of her dress and peeled it open. He kissed her legs slowly. They were bare and her skin was soft. He placed his quivering hands on her hips, then, becoming bolder, on her flanks. He rubbed the material of her skirt and felt it with his fingers. He ran his tongue up and down her leg just below her knee and unfastened another two of her dress buttons. He heard her turn the page of her magazine, and as she withdrew the cigarette from her lips they made a sort of soft kissing sound. She exhaled slowly, and the blowing sound of her breath aroused him somehow. He worked his mouth a little higher and pushed her dress open with his lips.
He licked her bare pale leg, running his tongue up and down and swirling it in circular movements. Her thigh was firm and warm, and her skin was soft and smooth. He kissed and licked the inner edges of her calves and the bony front of her legs. Every few moments he planted slow lingering kisses. Still her face betrayed no emotion. Still she drew on her cigarette, inhaling and exhaling slowly and loud enough to be evident without being over the top. Again her subtly glossed lips made a little kissing sound each time she withdrew the cigarette. A thin veil of smoke surrounded her face as she read her magazine. It was a fairly familiar scene by now, but he loved her feigned indifference to his attentions, and the way that even her smoking had an air of eroticism.
He caressed her knees where her silky dress had parted and looked up at her small breasts. They looked firm and pert under the blue fabric of her dress. He could just see a narrow strip of bare skin between two of her buttons, and a hint of the white lace of her bra. He heard the page of her magazine turn. He glanced up, but she did not look back at him. She merely inhaled slowly on her cigarette then, a few moments later, exhaled the smoke. The sounds, and the movements of her cheeks and of her mouth as she did so were very arousing. He felt the stiffening of his erection as he wondered how it would end today. Sometimes she allowed him to have sex with her. Sometimes she didn't. The choice was hers alone. She liked to have the control, and she enjoyed his uncertainty of how it would end. It was part of the game – and of the appeal - for both of them.
He slid two fingers between two of her dress buttons and brushed his fingers very lightly up and down her satin-smooth lower thigh. He inched his hand to her inner thigh and scratched it gently with his fingernails. He did the same with his other hand on the back of her firm thigh inside her dress. To his delight, although she gave no overt sign of pleasure she drew more deeply on her cigarette. He nuzzled her lean thighs through her dress, enjoying the feel of the warm, silky fabric against his lips. He kissed her bare knees where her dress lay open. He poked his tongue between two of her dress buttons and flicked it against the skin of her thigh. She breathed out deeply, even though her cigarette was away from her mouth and she was not exhaling smoke. He tried not to smirk. She had hinted at her pleasure.
She picked up the magazine and placed it loudly on the desk. This was the pre-arranged signal for him to give her breasts some attention. He was partly annoyed and partly aroused by her refusal to speak or to ask him to do this or that, but such was the deal. Play by her rules, or don't play at all.
And he did like to play. Besides, this was not the only sex he had. His recent girlfriend enjoyed sex as much as he did, and sex with her was very much a mutual pleasuring and true lovemaking. What was happening right now was simply sex with one partner calling all the shots. And, if he was honest, it made a pleasant change not to have to be in charge in the workplace, to hand over to someone else and simply do their bidding. He remembered once seeing a television documentary about men who enjoyed submission and even pain. Many of them held positions of responsibility and enjoyed the reversal of role in sex. So the documentary and some of the blokes interviewed (some wearing leather masks!) had said.
