The Third Friday

She came into his office, closing the door behind her, shortly after six thirty. "They've gone at last," she said. "Couldn't make the petty cash balance in the post room - not for the first time. But it's done now and everyone's gone."

Without looking up from his computer screen, he asked, "Roberts?"

"He's brought the car up from the garage and parked it in the usual place."

"No questions?"

"No. Why should there be? Roberts knows as well as anyone that the first and third Fridays are always A and P days. And all Audit and Planning means to him is that you drive yourself home and he gets away early."

When he didn't comment she asked, "Do you want to see?"

He continued to scroll through columns of figures on the screen on his desk. It was part of the ritual. When he was ready he would look up to examine the woman standing in front of him: thirty-five, slim, expensively dressed as befitted the MD's personal assistant, black suit, navy blouse with a white bow to soften the severity, skirt to the knee not quite concealing good legs. Regular visits to the gym kept her in good shape.

A sudden click of the mouse wiped the screen. He looked at her for the first time since she had entered the office. "Show me," he said, indicating a chair at the side of the expansive executive desk.

Seated, holding his eyes, she loosened the bow at her throat and began to open buttons. When the blouse was laid aside, she arched her back and unfastened the black bra. Her breasts were small, pointed and firm. In turn, she took each nipple and teased it to full erection. When she saw him moisten his lips with his tongue, she asked: "More?"

He nodded.

She stood, opened a zip and stepped out of her skirt to reveal black silk French knickers, suspender belt and black stockings. He motioned towards the desk. She took a position with her back to him, her feet wide apart, before leaning forward to rest her forearms on the desk surface. It seemed that he might be content just to look, to observe the fabric stretched across her tight round buttocks, but after a while he caressed the mounds, reaching between her legs to explore gently.

"Spank me," she said. "It helps."

He took his time, raising a hand, then pausing before bringing it down with a firm slap. Her only response was a quick breath and a slight movement to make her bottom more prominent, more inviting. He made her wait again, then suddenly administered a second smack, this time eliciting a sound that was almost a sigh of pleasure. In all, there were six slaps, tantalisingly spaced so that the anticipation was as stimulating as the contact itself.

She spoke quietly. "Shall I prepare now?"

He nodded.

Returning to the chair she sat with legs spread, moving the knicker gusset aside to reveal shaven vagina lips. The forefinger of her right hand began a slow circular motion around the clitoris, while her other hand stimulated the dark nipples, now prominent on her conical breasts. From time to time, the right hand paused to dip two fingers into the opening, testing the lubrication. Facing her, he opened his zip, eased his penis free of boxer shorts and started to massage it to full erection. With their eyes locked, he controlled the situation by the tiniest of gestures, ensuring that she slowed down whenever heaving breasts and deep breathing indicated that she was progressing further and faster than he desired. As with the spanking, the control was essential to the arousal. The outer labia had become puffy and glistened with her juices when she spoke again.

"Now?"

Again he nodded. She rose from the chair, knelt in front of him, took his penis in her hand and bent her head. Understanding that this was still merely foreplay, she applied herself carefully, teasing the tip with the end of tongue, licking in sensual strokes from scrotum to engorged head, then opening her mouth to take in the full length of his member. She repeated this process with subtle variations and tantalising pauses, until he placed his hand on the back of her head, a signal that she should stop before his response became too difficult to restrain. She knew that they were both ready.

She sat back in her chair. For a long minute they held each other's gaze, he stroking his erect member, she fondling her clitoris. She broke the silence: "Now fuck me."

They moved to a couch along one wall of the office. With her hands on the arm she bent over to allow him to caress her bottom again before slowly removing the black knickers. Then she arranged herself on the couch, legs wide apart, waiting. He slowly undressed himself and stood over her, his penis projecting, ready.

His first entry was swift, firm and complete, a tribute to the careful build-up which had left her vagina walls creamy and receptive. Once inside, he paused while she contracted and relaxed the muscles that held him there, sending little shivers through the shaft to the knob. And so began half-an-hour of exquisite coupling, exploiting a wide variety to positions to derive pleasure through every orifice. He was demanding, she co-operative. Knowing that she could repeat, he took care with his own desires while bringing her to orgasm three times, first with his fingers, then with his tongue, and then by steadily rubbing his member, wet with her juice, up and down against her clitoris until she rose to meet him with a deep, long moan of concentrated endeavour rewarded. That was surpassed during a sixty-nine, she on top taking his penis in with deep suction while reaching behind her to hold her buttocks apart. Underneath, he lapped at her sex with an artful tongue, sensing the mounting need in her from the small muscle spasms of her inner thighs. As she neared the summit, he slipped his middle finger past the sphincter and into her anus. The effect was instantaneous and explosive, a twisting paroxysm of fulfilment.

It was his turn. She stood and let him bend her over the arm of the couch. Placing a cushion under her to raise her bottom and expose her vulva, he widened her legs and took up position behind her. Massaging his penis with one hand he slapped her buttocks several times with the other.

"Please, now," she said. "Do it. Do it hard."

He needed no further invitation. Driving into her to establish the angle, he found that she was responsive to his every movement, pushing back to match the rhythm of his penetration. From a slow beginning he gradually increased the tempo and the vigour of his pistoning, until each thrust was accompanied by a grunt from him and a happy moan from her. At last, he could control himself no longer. Instinctively she tightened her vaginal entry round him and felt the sudden spurt as he came; three, four times a jet of his spend mingled with her own until he half collapsed across her body.

Recovering, he asked, "Good?"

"Very good."

***************

Driving home, she arranged herself the way he liked her: half turned towards him, skirt round her thighs, knees wide apart. As he drove, he occasionally reached down to stroke the inside of her leg above the stocking top. She had becomes his PA six years ago, his mistress within three months. They were married a year later. On their wedding night they had agreed to keep their sex life in the forefront of their relationship. The annual fantasy had been her idea. On each anniversary, they alternated in setting the fantasy situation for the next twelve months. The first and third Friday sex in the office had been her choice, allowing her to enjoy the submissive side of her nature. Soon, he would decide the next scenario, and he had already told her what he wanted: a threesome with another woman. There was an interesting newcomer in Accounts whom she had been leading to the point where the question could be posed. It excited her as much as him.

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