It was a warm sunny day. In fact, the weather had been wonderful for several days. The sun poured through the slats of the Venetian blinds across the polished teak desk in Joanne's outer office, where she was sitting reading the screen of her computer. The sales office was quiet. It was lunch-time and most of the staff were out, or closeted in their office with a sandwich and cup of tea. Joanne had been expecting her boss to arrive for lunch time, but a phone call had explained that he was delayed in London and likely to be an hour late.
Joanne had always kept herself to herself. Well, certainly at work, which was encouraged by her boss, the Financial Director, to avoid office tittle-tattle with other staff. In any case, she was a self-confessed snob, and had very little in common with the others. At 188 lbs, she was quite a big girl - though by no means fat. Just well-built. She carried her wide hips, large shapely bottom and considerable breasts with style and elegance, having been properly 'finished' in Switzerland. She knew how to present herself to make the most of her figure.
Whilst not exactly beautiful in the accepted sense, she had strikingly attractive features. She reminded those who remembered her films, of the French Actress Simone Signoret , with her sultry looks and wide sensual mouth with full lips. Her brown eyes were set rather more apart than was considered perfect, with a straight, rather wide nose.
Joanne was the only daughter of a local land owner, Ernest Forsythe, with a string of race horses. He was the local Master of Hounds, and his old friend and 'best man' at his wedding, Arthur Gifford-Smith, happened to be the Financial Director of a multi-national company. He had persuaded Ernest to allow Joanne to become his secretary, partly because of her breeding, but also because he admired her figure. It would be nice to have her around the office. And Joanne thought it might be rather fun, besides earning extra cash, always welcome spending money. So she accepted.
As it turned out, it was far from being fun. It was uninteresting and dull, though the generous salary made it worth the effort of getting to the office each day. Her boss was rarely in there, and she had the impression that she herself was just window-dressing, boosting his image of importance in the company. With little to do, she read a lot!
Joanne had known for a while that her husband flirted with other ladies, but didn't really mind, providing she got the benefit of his stimulation later in bed. She watched him at parties, trying to feel up the young slim girls, whilst she herself fended off advances from unwanted older stallions. Their marriage had been one of convenience for their families, really, and, though she got on reasonably well with her husband, sex had never topped their list of priorities. Perhaps he even had one-night stands whilst away on business. But providing he brought no nasty disease home with him, she wasn't too worried.
Her 'society wedding' with Rodney in the local cathedral, had been exciting for her. She looked magnificent in her expensive wedding dress. The marriage, however, had soon became fairly open between the couple, after Rodney had agreed for Joanne to have a reasonable amount of financial freedom in exchange for her turning a blind eye to his amorous excursions. He was discreet about it, thank goodness. And so was she. Joanne had some expensive clothes to show for her understanding, and still got the sex she needed from him, shared with a personal dildo which actually gave her more satisfaction than he did.
That was how she came to be sitting at her desk at midday on a lovely warm Friday, with the skirt of her light white cotton summer dress draped over her lap, fingers playing casually with the crotch of her panties, whilst reading a rather erotic story on the Literotica website - about how a middle-age married couple went dogging. The wife had persuaded her husband to allow a stranger to fuck her in their car, whilst he watched - to add more fire to her imagination. And his for that matter. As she read, Joanne imagined herself in the same situation, casually rubbing herself over her knickers. She was leaking.
The telephone ringing brought her back to reality. The receptionist told her that Mrs Gifford-Smith was on her way to her husband's office. Quickly lowering the hem of her dress and switching her laptop to the iGoogle home page, she stood to cross to the door to welcome her boss's wife. Quite unprepared for her initial reaction to the woman approaching her, Joanne's mouth went dry. She felt a sudden wrench in her belly. Oh my goodness! What on earth...? Joanne had heard of attractions at first sight, but assumed such things were between man and woman. But here was no man, but another woman. A wonderful, elegant, beautiful woman. She closed her mouth and gulped with embarrassment.
'Good morning Mrs Gifford-Smith,' she welcomed with a warm smile and some confusion. 'I'm afraid your husband has been delayed for an hour or so.'
'Oh shit! Excuse the language!' Ginette was unaware of the younger woman's reaction to her appearance.
'No problem! I have already phoned the restaurant to delay the booking. Can I get you a coffee or anything, or would you rather do a little shopping perhaps, and come back later?'
'I'll hang on here.'
As Joanne led the way into the inner private office, her boss's sanctum, she was impressed by Ginette. The lady was very imposing. Almost as well-built as Joanne, with perfectly groomed chestnut-coloured hair, looking as though she had just come from the hair stylist - which she had - and an expensive tailored two-piece calf-length suit of cream tussore silk and mohair, hiding a white lace silk bouse with a cut-away collar. Her handbag, Joanne noticed, was a Mulberry, whilst her hat was a Whiteley's fascinator. Mmm - class! Expensive! Joanne knew all about these things!
'That's most kind. Sorry! You must be Joanne. Or is it Jo for short? Arthur has often spoken about you.' She gave Joanne an appraising look with a wide smile. 'And I must say I'm not surprised.' Pretending not to have noticed the slight blush spreading over Joanne's cheeks, she continued. 'Or anything would be nice. Arthur's private fridge probably has a Martini and ice. Join me?'
'Oh, thank you Mrs Gifford-Smith ...'
'Ginny, please. You father is Ernest Forsythe, is he not?'
'Yes. I remember you at the wedding.'Joanne lied. As she turned to open the fridge, Ginny was appraising Jo's figure. It was an automatic reaction for her. She was always interested in studying other women. Not in what they were wearing necessarily, though expensive clothes helped, but admiring their contours and speculating about the shape of their breasts and the contours of their inner thighs. Although a highly respected lady of the local community, Ginette had recently developed a preference for other women when it came to sex. She had always been bi-sexual, since being introduced to sex with other young ladies at private boarding school, but that was overtaken when she met Arthur.
Now, since their marriage twenty-three years ago, the inevitable loss of interest her husband showed in having sufficient sex with her, well, sufficient for her anyway, had led to a reawakening of Ginny's interest in her own sex. She had been fortunate enough to find a like-minded lady in the Lord-Lieutenant's wife, Juliet. Or rather, be found by her, for Juliet was the hunter. And the absolute soul of discretion. She had recognised the signs in Ginette, and pursued her with eventual success. It takes one to know one, as they say.
