The Perfect Secretary

When John White inherited the company from his father, Charles, he also inherited his secretary.

Miss Green – her first name was Marjory, but no one in the company used it – had been with the company for over twenty years. As a schoolgirl she had been very bright, and in her early teens she had been expected to go through to the sixth form, then on to university. She came from a middle class family, her father owning an apparently successful business. However, when she was fifteen, the business went bankrupt, with suggestions – unproven – that her father had taken part in some financially dubious practices. They had had to sell the big house in the best part of the area and downsize to a suburban semi – detached house. The shame and sense of failure had been too much for her father, and he committed suicide. Her mother had always been a bit fragile emotionally, and her husband's death caused her to have a nervous breakdown.

Having always been well provided for, her mother had never worked, and, in her emotional state, was never likely to do so. As a result, Marjory had no option but to finish her O level examinations and find employment at sixteen years of age. She was taken on by the company as an office junior, but it soon became obvious that she had potential to obtain early promotion.

Charles White was a very forward looking employer. He had taken over a small company from his father, and had built it up to a very substantial outfit. His expansion projects had been judiciously chosen and had never needed to raise large capital sums, thus also retaining total control as the holder of eighty percent of the shares, the remainder being split between his wife and a friend to whom he had sold a small stake. He had an old fashioned view as to how to behave to employees, and never used Christian names. Thus, Marjory was Miss Green from day one despite being the junior, and so it remained. Charles was very enlightened as to the education of his staff, and any employee who showed talent in any direction would always be encouraged to follow further education courses, for which he would pay, and for younger staff he would allow a day off a week to attend the local further education college.

Miss Green took full advantage of the chance to extend the education that had been so abruptly cut off, and she learned the obvious things like shorthand and typing, then added accountancy and took further courses in French and German, in which she had excelled at school. This became a habit for her, and for the rest of her life she was to take every opportunity to broaden her knowledge.

But what about Miss Green herself? She was 38 years old, quite tall, and one got the impression that she might have a rather pleasant figure, but it was only a guess because she always dressed so conservatively that it was largely concealed. She wore formal suits with skirts below the knee, beneath which could be seen nicely shaped calves sheathed in nylons, always with a straight seam, and her shoes were solid affairs with medium heels – court shoes, I believe is the correct name. Under the suit jacket would be a plain white or cream blouse, buttoned up to the neck. Her face was pleasant without being exceptional and was always devoid of any visible makeup except for the lightest of lipsticks, and her hair was always drawn back severely from her face. All in all, the impression was that of an efficient secretary whom one wouldn't really image as having any life outside work.

After two years in the company she had become totally knowledgeable about its workings, and had a reputation for being reliable and having a remarkable memory. She worked under the direction of Charles White's secretary, Mrs Wells, and when she became pregnant Charles asked her if she thought that Miss Green could act as his secretary during her maternity leave. She took over the job as though she had been doing it for years, and, when Mrs Wells decided that she did not wish to return to work, it was inevitable that Miss Green should take on the job on a permanent basis. She was totally discreet and efficient in all aspects of the job, and Charles came to totally rely on her. Although she was well liked throughout the company, she never made personal friendships and was thought to be a bit remote, and most people thought that she was older than her 38 years, due to her dress and rather old fashioned standards of behaviour.

It had always been intended that John White would succeed his father when Charles reached sixty. He had had a good scholastic career through school and university, after which he had worked his way through every department in the company, and had spent time with associated companies in Europe and the USA. He was thus well on the way to being ready to make the succession, when Charles died suddenly at the age of 57, leaving John to inherit the company and its leadership at the age of 28.

He would never forget his first day in charge, the day after his father's funeral. He had walked into the office, and sat down in the big chair his father had always used. As he looked around, not quite believing that all this and the rest of the company was now his responsibility, Miss Green entered. She already knew that John liked coffee, and she carried a tray with a delightfully smelling cafetière plus cup and saucer, cream and sugar which she put down on his desk.

'Miss Green, please fetch a cup for yourself and join me so we can have a talk.'

She did as she was bid, and sat down in front of him. After the coffee was poured, she spoke.

'I would like to say first of all that I expect that you will want to make changes. If you feel that you would like to bring in a different secretary, I will quite understand. I got on well with your father, but being a secretary is quite a personal relationship, and I shan't be offended if you wish to make your own choice. Perhaps someone a bit younger...'

'Please don't talk rubbish, Miss Green. I totally rely on your knowledge and experience, and would be horrified if you were to leave. As for someone younger, I'd probably find I was being distracted in ways that would be most unhelpful.'

'Whereas I'm not likely to distract you.' she said, with a small smile.

'Oh God, there's no way I can talk myself out of this is there. As my father sometimes said, when you are in a hole, stop digging, so I'll just say that I very much hope that you will stay and help me to get to grips with trying to fill my father's shoes.'

'That's a big job, but I'm sure you'll manage it.'

That was the beginning of an excellent working relationship. She held his hand without ever patronising him, and helped him to become ever more confident with his new responsibilities. But, after a few months, he still found himself a bit overawed by her sheer perfection. She just never made a mistake, and, coupled with the age difference and her very formal manner of dress and behaviour, he sometimes felt she was too perfect.

He used occasionally to have lunch with an old university friend, lunches which sometimes got a bit too liquid. On one of these occasions when they had drunk a little more than was wise, Peter, his friend, asked him how he was getting on with his new secretary.

'Pete, she's marvellous, but I just wish sometimes she'd be a bit more ...well, human. If she spilt the coffee or made a typing mistake, just something to show that there's a woman under the uniform.'

Peter thought for a minute, then refilled their wine glasses.

'You'll just have to do something completely outrageous, and see if you get a response.'

'Such as what?'

'Oh, I don't know. How about goosing her, that should get a response, if it's only a slapped face.'

'Goosing her?'

'Yes, you know, grab her arse.'

'I know what it means, you fool. It's just the idea is so outlandish. It'd be like goosing the Queen.'

'Yeah, you're probably right – but it was just a suggestion, trying to be helpful. Here, let's finish this bottle.'

They finished the wine and he walked back to his office. Although he had drunk a lot, he wasn't in any way physically incapable, no staggering, no slurred speech, but he wasn't quite his normal self. As he walked, and after he was sitting at his desk, he kept remembering what Pete had said, and the idea of squeezing Miss Green's bottom wouldn't quite go away, though he was sober enough to realise that it would be a disastrous thing to do and undoubtedly lose him an excellent secretary, not to mention risking him being arrested for assault.

At the end of the day Miss Green entered his office as always, bringing letters to be checked and signed – not that her typing ever needed checking. It had been flawless in the days of manual typewriters, and word processing only tried to improve upon perfection. As usual she stood beside him as he looked through the letters, and he suddenly realised that his spare hand had dropped off the arm of his chair and was moving inexorably in her direction. He quickly drew it back, but, as soon as he concentrated on his mail, it began to move again, as of its own volition. He tried hard to control himself, but his mind had been totally programmed to commit an outrageous act, and, try as he might, the hand moved out and up, till it finally came to rest on Miss Green's bottom.

He was just touching her, and, as there was no reaction, he assumed that she could not feel him. Common sense was screaming at him to withdraw immediately, with no damage done, but the wine he had drunk was more effective in controlling his actions, and he pressed a little harder, and gave a gentle squeeze. As an erotic experience, this was a bit of a failure. She was wearing a skirt made of quite a heavy tweed and this, together with the armouring effect of whatever underpinnings she was wearing, meant that, though there was enough warmth and shape to identify a human being, the shape was ill defined and sexless.

Although he had squeezed hard enough to have left her in no doubt that she had been groped, she gave no indication that she was aware. As he had somehow finished signing the mail – though, if she had presented a blank cheque in front of him, he would have signed without question – she moved away from him and left his office with no comment, though, as she turned to draw the door closed behind her, he could have sworn that he had seen the ghost of a smile on her lips.

That night John hardly slept at all. As he had sobered up the awful realisation of what he had done had sunk in, and he was terrified that Miss Green could hit him with a sexual harassment claim that he would find hard to refute, and, even worse, he would lose a secretary on whom he was still very reliant. On the other hand, he could not understand why she had not reacted at the time. She surely couldn't have enjoyed his groping hand, could she? He was mystified and worried, so, the next morning, when he arrived at the office and Miss Green greeted him exactly as always, with no sign of any concern, he felt very relieved. On the other hand, he felt slightly offended that she could so totally ignore what could only be considered as a sexual advance. Common sense told him to thank heaven that he hadn't landed himself in serious trouble, and to make sure that he stayed out of potential trouble in future. But common sense doesn't always rule the day...

That afternoon Miss Green stood beside him as always as he signed the mail. If she had stood just a little further away it wouldn't have happened, but she chose to stand, if anything, closer to him than usual, and he was aware of the very faint, pleasant smell of whatever cosmetics that she used. Although this time he was stone cold sober, he was still unable to control his hand, and it dropped down beside his chair, then rose and, like a guided missile, found its way to Miss Green's arse. Yesterday, she had felt almost armour plated, but today it felt very different. The skirt that she was wearing was made from a much thinner and softer material, and whatever she was wearing under it was also much more pliant. He could feel the rounded shape of her buttock, and, as he began to fondle it, he could feel the firm flesh moving under his touch. His hand roamed over the pleasant shape, and he gently pressed his fingers a little way into the crack.

Again, she showed no sign of any reaction, but this time he had no doubts but that she was fully aware of what he was doing, and it would appear that, if she wasn't actively enjoying it, she certainly wasn't objecting. He continued his enjoyable activity while he managed somehow to check and sign his mail, when he gave a gentle squeeze to each buttock in turn before withdrawing. She picked up the papers and left his office and once more he thought he saw a smile on her face. He suddenly realised that he had a raging erection, and wondered if she had noticed it, before he went into his private wash room and rapidly relieved himself, shooting great jets of come down the lavatory pan, reminding him that it was several weeks since he had had sex.

By the next day he had decided that, come what may, he was going to get a reaction from Miss Green somehow. Once more, at the end of the day, he made his move, this time with deliberate intent. When she was standing beside him, he put his hand deliberately on her calf, and began to moved slowly upwards, underneath her skirt and slip. He felt the firm slippery surface of her nylon encased leg, but, as he crept upwards he suddenly felt the texture change from fabric to warm smooth flesh, and he realised happily that she was wearing stockings, not the dreaded tights which were nearly impregnable without considerable force. Up moved his hand over the back of her thigh till he felt a silky fabric encasing the swelling out over her buttock. The flesh was pliant under his questing fingers, and he cupped the rounded form, squeezing it gently and roaming from one delightful swelling to the other. After a while, his fingers found the top of her arse crack, and he began to stroke up and down, pushing the cloth deeper and deeper into the groove, and sliding inexorably downwards. He felt the heat of her body, and, as he groped, he could feel the little indent of her anus, and he pressed very gently inwards.

Was he imagining things, or did he actually hear a sharp intake of breath from Miss Green's lips? He remembered that he had to leave the office in good time, and realised that today he could not investigate further, but, before withdrawing his hand, he slid his fingers just far enough forward so that he could feel the form of her outer lips, and was delighted to feel a damp patch on his secretary's knickers. Then he took his hand away, and Miss Green moved away from his desk, smiling her inscrutable smile once again. After she had left, he sniffed at his hand, and smelt the unmistakable odour of an aroused pussy, after which he went to the wash room and relieved himself again.

The next day was going to be the big day. Again she stood beside him, and again his hand found her leg and moved up slowly under her skirt, and traversed the swelling thigh over the slippery nylon till it came to the sensuous feel of her bare flesh. Up he moved and this time, to his delight, there was no garment to hinder his progress and he slid over the swelling of her arse cheek till he was holding her firmly in his hand. He squeezed and fondled the lovely flesh, enjoying the smooth texture of her skin, and after a while his fingers found the crevice between her buttocks and slid deeper and deeper into her warmth. He descended bit by bit till he came to the soft cavity of her anus, where he pressed gently, but without enough pressure to penetrate.

His next move was forwards, and his fingers came to the furry covering of her outer lips, and he eased inwards and felt the groove between them parting to allow him access to the warm and wet inner space. He slid to and fro in the valley between her lips till his pressure eased apart the inner lips and his inquisitive finger slid easily into the slippery channel, and when a second finger followed he heard her gasp quietly. Then he withdrew and slid forward and up till he felt the bud of her clitoris, hardening under his touch. He no longer doubted that she was ready for him, but withdrew his hand. She moved a little away from him.

'Will that be all, Mr White.'

'No, Miss Green. Bend over the desk, please.'

With no hesitation she obeyed his request. He stood up, and pulled her skirt up to her waist, uncovering a pair of firm, rounded buttocks, and, between her legs her puffy, hair covered outer lips, parted just enough for the pink tips of her inner lips to show, glistening with her juice. He undid his trousers and let them slip down round his ankles, then pushed down his boxers over the thrust of his very aroused penis. He moved in behind her, and guided his rampant member in to the waiting pussy, and felt the tip slide smoothly into the warm cavity, whereupon he pushed firmly till his pubis was hard against her warm arse cheeks and his cock was deep inside her. He grasped her hips with each hand, and began to stroke firmly in and out of the wet channel, and quickly increased speed and pressure till he was thrusting vigorously, and with each stroke there was the slap of flesh on flesh. It didn't take long, and very soon he was pumping his seminal fluid deep inside her, and he felt her muscles gripping him as she responded to his attentions. She made no noise except for her sharp intakes of breath, and when he finished, he felt her relax onto the desk top.

He withdrew his now limp member from her, and, taking a tissue from the box on his desk, wiped himself dry before restoring his clothing. She stood up, allowing her skirt to drop, then felt in her pocket and withdrew a pair of knickers, which she proceeded to put on.

'That will be all, thank you, Miss Green.'

'Thank you, Mr White.'

This time, when she left the office, she turned and gave him a beaming smile, and this time he felt no need to visit his toilet to masturbate. Instead, he sat at his desk for some time, thinking what to do about his sexy secretary. Finally, he decided, and next morning he made two phone calls to France. Later in the day he rang for Miss Green to come into his office.

'Miss Green, I'm planning to go to Paris next week to visit Mr Durand and Mr Moulin. I've fixed dates with them for Friday and Monday, and I'd like you to come with me to translate, if you are available.'

'Yes, I'm free for those days. Do you propose to stay in Paris over the weekend, or come back?'

'Oh, I think it would be better to stay over, don't you?'

'Whatever you wish. Do you want me to make the travel and hotel arrangements, and, if so, do you prefer to travel by plane or train? And would you wish to use the same hotel as Mr White Senior used. He always stayed at the same place.'

'Yes, please go ahead. Let's use the train, it's cheaper and less hassle than hanging around at Heathrow and Charles de Gaulle airports. I presume you know the hotel as you used to translate for him, so that will be fine. Right, let me know if there are any problems. Now, if you would care to lean over the desk...?'

The day before they were due to travel Mr Durand had phoned and spoken to Miss Green, proposing to take them to dinner after their meeting. John had been out of the office when he phoned, so Miss Green accepted on his behalf, and, when he returned, told him what she had done, and advised him to pack a dinner jacket, which would be expected at the restaurant where they would eat.

When they arrived at the Gare du Nord in Paris they were met by Mr Durand's driver, who took them to his office, then continued to the hotel with their luggage. They passed a very useful day in the office, tidying up a lot of business which could be more easily conducted face to face than by mail or phone. Mr Durand insisted that John should call him Pierre, which John found showed a basis for a friendly relationship. Although Miss Green was supposed to be there to translate, in fact John's French was more than adequate for his requirements. At the end of the day the driver took them to their hotel, which was a small but quite select establishment sited on a quiet side road in the centre of Paris.