George walked out of his office and down the hall, heading for the kitchen for a snack. At least that was his intention. What he actually did was walk out of his office and stand still, admiring a pair of long shapely legs, topped by a deliciously rounded little bottom clad in a pair of lacy knickers. He assumed that the legs and bottom probably had the rest of a female torso to go with them, but he didn't mind admiring what he could see for a while.
Whoever it was, she appeared to be trying to fish something out from behind the side-table and, bending even further, Miss X stretched one leg straight out behind her. Quite a fascinating view, in George's opinion, but not one which he should be caught contemplating. He cleared his throat.
The gently waving leg and wobbling bottom froze, there was the sound of a muffled squawk, and Miss X popped up into view, blushing madly.
"Good morning," said George. "I'm George. And you are?"
"I'm Rosemary, sir," she said quickly.
Rosemary, decided George, was a nice name for a very nice looking young woman. She was dressed in what was probably supposed to be a maid's uniform, but he'd never actually seen a maid wearing one quite that short. It seemed to him that she had bought it one size too small and then proceeded to grow some more.
"Hullo, Rosemary," murmured George. "May I ask who Rosemary actually is and what's she doing here, apart from giving my poor heart a sudden workout?"
Rosemary's blush was working overtime.
"I'm your maid, sir," she informed him.
George shook his head.
"No," he said sadly. "I assure you, if you were my maid, I'd remember it. Even with Alzheimer's, I'd remember it. My maid is Mrs. Batten. She's what I categorise as triple F. You're not."
"Triple F, sir?" asked the puzzled Rosemary.
"Fat, fifty and ferocious," replied George. "May I have some more information about yourself."
Trying not to giggle, Rosemary explained. Mrs. Batten had a broken ankle. She, Rosemary, was her niece, and had been chosen to fill in for her for a few weeks while she recovered. She knew everything she had to do. Her aunt had taught her all the little tricks of the trade, and she had her aunt's notebook, which specified her duties at each of the houses that she had to visit.
George nodded. "Give Mrs. Batten my condolences, won't you. I'll get out of your road and let you work. Ah, one last thing. Did Mrs. Batten supply you with that uniform?"
"No, sir," said Rosemary with another blush. "She just said that I'd have to have one. This was the only one I could find. It's alright, isn't it?"
"It's fine, I assure you," said George, smiling, and he went on his way.
For the rest of the morning, it seemed to George that every time he turned around he saw Rosemary, long legs on display. There was Rosemary reaching up, with her skirt creeping up. There was Rosemary bending over, with her skirt lifting at the back. Rosemary and legs, every time he looked around. He was almost relieved when she let for her next appointment.
Friday she was back. George stopped and asked how her aunt was, forwarded his best wishes, and left her to do her work. Once again, it seemed to George that Rosemary was everywhere. He assumed that when Mrs. Batten came around, she also wandered all over the house doing her work, but she certainly never drew the eye the way Rosemary did. More likely one's eyes just refused to see Mrs. Batten, rather than being drawn to a neat little figure like Rosemary's.
On Tuesday, George was feeling rather irritable, and he silently cursed when Rosemary came floating past. She was one distraction he really did not need. Alternatively, she was one distraction he shouldn't let himself indulge in. He must be turning into a dirty old man, was his considered opinion.
Leaving his office to get some morning tea, George found himself repeating the scenario when he first saw Rosemary. Once again she was bent over the little side-table, either trying to fish something out from behind it or trying to dust behind it without moving it.
Either way, the view was the same. One long leg on the ground, one waving gently in the air, a petite bottom gently bobbing as she moved. It seemed to George that if Rosemary had to wear a uniform that short, maybe she ought to wear somewhat more in the way of panties. The ones she currently wore were just temptation in silk.
"You're forty," a little voice whispered in his ear. "She's twenty, tops. Half your age."
"That means you can teach her things," another little voice said. "Go for it. She can always say no."
Walking quietly up behind Rosemary, George dropped a hand onto her bottom and caressed it. There was a startled cry, and Rosemary shot upright finding, to her consternation, that this did not cause George to lose his grip.
"What are you doing?" she protested. "Take your hand off me."
"Not yet," said George. "I've decided that there's something extra I want you to do. Of course, I'll pay you a nice bonus that won't go on the books."
"If you mean what I think you mean, the answer is no," replied Rosemary, trying to wriggle away from the hand that was still fondling her bottom.
"I probably mean what you think," said George cheerfully, "and the answer will be yes." His hand had now slipped inside her panties, caressing her naked flesh.
"The way I look at it, it's only a matter of time before I catch you alone, pull your panties off and have my wicked way, as they say in the romance novels. Think how much simpler it will be if you just yield gracefully and earn some untaxed pocket-money at the same time."
"Not going to happen," said Rosemary hotly. "I'm not that sort of girl."
"Are you trying to tell me you're still a virgin?" asked George. "If you are, with a figure like yours, it's probably illegal."
Rosemary glared at him. "I didn't say I was a virgin. I meant I don't take money for having sex."
"That's fine by me. I don't pay for it. We'll have sex because I want you and you're too kind hearted to refuse me. The bonus you get will have nothing to do with the sex."
"Will you please take your hand off my bottom?" snapped Rosemary. "And I have no intention of having sex with you."
"But I have every intention of having sex with you. Preferably after I've stripped this silly little costume off you and you're standing naked in front of me. I see you shave."
Rosemary gave an outraged squeak as George obeyed her request to move his hand off her bottom. Unfortunately, moving it around to her mons was not what she'd meant.
"I'm serious, sir," Rosemary stated firmly. "I'm not having sex with you. Now please let me go."
"I'm serious, too, Rosemary," George stated just as firmly. Reaching for the hand that was trying to drag his out of her panties, he pressed it against his groin, letting her feel his erection.
"As you can feel, I'm already prepared for our little encounter. It's going to happen. The only real questions are when and will you cooperate or wriggle like a fish when I spear you?"
"The answer is it won't happen. If you don't take your hand out of my panties, I'll scream. And as soon as you do I'm leaving this house and not returning."
"And how will you explain to your aunt about losing her job?"
Rosemary stared at George in shock. "That's not fair," she protested.
George wriggled his fingers against Rosemary's mound, drawing another frustrated squeak.
"You're right, it's not. Now why don't we move into the office so I can start undressing you?"
"Will you listen to me? I said no."
"I heard you. Repeatedly. I don't care. Now if you don't want me pulling your panties off right here in the hallway, I strongly suggest we finish this discussion in the office."
Not removing his hands from inside Rosemary's panties, George moved back to his office, drawing a reluctant Rosemary with him. Once in the office, George kicked the door close and surprised Rosemary by finally removing his hand.
"Are you a virgin?" George asked, looking straight at Rosemary and daring her to lie.
Rosemary glared at him, but shook her head.
