Copyright 2005 by the author, all rights reserved.
I'd been invited to Tom's final interview for the job; it was company policy at Wilson Industries to involve spouses in the selection process. Lizabeth Wilson, daughter of the company founder, walked into the conference room. Life suddenly got more interesting.
She's a tall blond, with great-looking breasts and shapely legs. I stared at her cleavage and nylon-clad legs, which surely led to delicious soft thighs. I had an urge to touch her thighs and use my tongue on them.
She smiled as I stared at her. Bitch! She knew I was interested. Did she sense that I'd been involved with women before I met Tom?
"Tom," she said , "you may have to go on extended trips around the country, as part of your Marketing job. Is that OK?"
Tom answered, "That's fine, Lizabeth. I'm sure Edith won't mind. How about that, honey?"
I answered Tom while looking at her, "OK with me. I'll find something to pass the time when you're away."
She and I exchanged vibrations. Tom hadn't a clue to what was happening.
Two weeks after Tom was hired, Lizabeth sent him on a trip to meet customers on the West Coast. He called me when it was late afternoon in L.A., and early evening here in New York.
"Hi there," he said. "I had a good day and it looks like a fine trip so far. By the way, I called Lizabeth and gave her a progress report. She seems pleased with the way it went. I'll call you later in the week."
I sat there, waiting for another call... the phone rang. It was her.
Her voice was soft and throaty, "Hello, Edith. This is Lizabeth. Tom just called me to say that things are going well."
"I heard from him already with that news. What's on your mind?"
"Come over to my place. You must be lonely. We could comfort each other, because I don't have a lover with me either. Dress casually."
That turned me on. I'd been thinking about her ever since we first met at Tom's interview. Now she mentioned not having a lover. Was that a fucking clue? Only one way to find out. I accepted her invitation, saying, "Give me your address, I'll be over in an hour.
I stared at my image in the bathroom mirror while dressing for my session with Lizabeth. Although I'm on the slim side, no lover has ever complained about my body. I work out a lot and jog in Central Park whenever I can. In addition to lipstick, the only makeup I use is a touch of rouge on my nipples: not too much, but enough to highlight an asset of mine -- pert, erect nipples. Many a lover has licked my nipples and sucked on them. They're very sensitive. When I masturbate, I use one hand in my cunt and one hand playing with my nipples. That always gets me off.
Lizabeth lives in an elegant town house in the Village. A short Hispanic-looking maid answered the door. When I gave her my name, she responded in accented English, "Welcome, miss. I am Maria, Madame Lizabeth's maid. She is expecting you." As Maria walked in front of me, I noticed her ass cheeks clearly moving under her dress; I figured she was naked underneath - no panties. I must have been horny as hell to think about the maid that way, while she was taking me to Lizabeth.
Maria led me into the living room. Lizabeth rose from a couch and kissed me on the cheek, "Edith, how nice to see you."
She wears her hair a bit longer than shoulder length, and she's fine-boned as Limoges porcelain. 'This is a very classy woman,' I thought. 'But she's dressed like a goddam slut for me!'