There is a secretary at work that is somewhat of a 'shared girl', meaning that her secretarial services are split, or shared, between a couple of offices at my end of the building. She is probably almost 10 or 15 years older than me, making her to be about in her mid to late 50's. Her name is Amy.
Amy takes very good care of herself. She is always eating right, at least at work, and drinking water. She always talks about going to the gym before work at some insane hour like 4:30 or something of that nature. A time of day when any less fanatical person would be sawing logs, not putting in miles on an eliptical machine.
Whatever her workout regimen was, it worked. She was smokin'. Amy always dressed conservatively, but the very well endowed features of her womanly physique shown through anyway. In fact, I am not so sure that she didn't subtly dress in a way as to hint to the treasures she was allegedly covering with her clothing.
Her hair was a faded type of brunette with a hint of silver poking through. Just enough to hint at her age and the fact that although she could be someone's mother, she was definitely not a grandmother. Her full, buxom breasts always filled out whatever top she was wearing and they always seemed just a little too tightly confined in that lucky garment whose material was pulling just enough on the buttons. It was almost as if she was making a subtle show of them...
Her legs were well toned and muscular enough to say she worked out; however, not so much as to scream Mrs. Olympia. She frequently wore skirts that were above the knee and wrapped her very nice legs in stockings.
However, beneath her skirts, slacks, or whatever else she wore, was the feature that brought it all together. Her heart shaped ass. The kind of ass that firmly jiggled as she stepped down. the kind of jiggle that comes from well toned muscle. An erotic and sensual lure to just about any man that draws breath and stands upright. Not that Jell-O like wave that comes from too many desserts while watching TV and not enough activity.
Finally, but definitely not lastly, was her face. Perfectly clear complexion, rosy hue and always alive with activity. Amy was a very pretty woman and all the peices fit together very nicely. Completely and tightly like a well drafted and constructed project, Amy was very attractive for any age.
Amy and I got to know each other very well over the years that she worked between the four offices in my area. We spent time chit-chatting at the copier and had split more than a few lunches at our desks while trying to complete some last minute projects.
We talked enough that I knew her husband was a drunkard and showed very little physical interest in Amy and she knew that my wife and I kept our eyes open and our 'heads up' for anything coming down field. She also knew that we kept no secrets from each other and that we communicated openly about everything that we did.
Her life was a complete contrast. Amy told me repeatedly how closed minded and self centered her husband was. She always had such grand plans during the week. She would talk about things she wanted to do, experiences she wanted to have, a place she wanted to go for dinner. Her banter grew more excited, more urgent as the weekend approached and Friday afternoon came.
I would wish her luck, but I always knew what the result would be. Inevitably she came back to work on Monday, crestfallen. Sometimes the tell tale tracks of tears cut across her firm cheeks. Her plans dashed by her husband's drinking, or some manufactured excuse for him to slip away from her.
On those blue Mondays she always needed a shoulder to cry on. I was happy to oblige. You see, ususally secretaries have their inner circle of people that they can confide in and usually they are other secretaries. People who can understand their lingo and experiences. It helps you get through the day.
For Amy that circle did not exist. Partly because she was not in the main secretarial pool and assigned to specific offices so they looked at her as outside of their clique. Mostly, I believe, because even though she was their elder by a few years she did not give in to 'secretary spread' or any of the other diseases of complacency or aging that plagued her conterparts. She stood out. She was pretty, attractive, desireable and above all she was smart.
That is why I found her interesting.
More than once I had cut and spliced a mental pornography together featuring Amy in some contrived office scenario. The plots were admittedly thin, but, then again, how thick does the plot have to be? The little movies always got me hard and I took care of business. That was what was supposed to happen, right?
Everything was humming along fine at work. My little movies were entertaining me and I was able to function as a human being. Until the day came that Amy showed up with the little red mark on her cheek.
She had tried to conceal it and, in the end, that is what probably drew my attention to it. Maybe she used a little too much concealer on purpose. Maybe she let her eyes well up on purpose, maybe not. Whatever the reason, she caught my attention that Monday.
I called her into my office on the pretense of taking some dictation (oh, the irony..). I had her sit down, her notebook in hand, her legs crossed very daintily as she sat in the chair before my desk. Her skirt and customary hosery were perfect, maybe the skirt was even a little shorter than usual...
Her white satin blouse had a slightly plunging neckline that revealed just the faintest hint of her plentiful cleavage. It was just enough to be seductive; to whisper sexy and not cross over the line and scream 'whore'. The little choker style necklace she was wearing just added to the hint of the passions that burned beneath her clothes. Camouflaged but not completely hidden. A trick in the seductive arts that an experienced woman knows how to play.
I told her that I had brought her in to talk to her privately, that I had noticed the little mouse swelling and redness on her cheek. I asked if everything was ok?
The floodgates opened. She placed her face into her palms. Her silent sobbing just barely audible with the air condictioner fan humming away in the corner. The tick of the clock on the wall seemed interminable as she cried.
What had I done? Amy was crying in my office. She sobbed silently. Her chest heaving, shoulders scrunched forward. If she could have reduced herself into a ball of lint and rolled under my desk I have no doubt she would have done so. I wanted to help her. I wanted to find out what was bothering her and help. Instead, I felt like a heel. I hadn't been the one to strike her, but I was the one that made her cry.
I did the only thing I could think to do. The natural thing that way down deep inside instinctually tells a man what he must do when he sees a woman crying and in pain. Perhaps it was what she was baiting me toward after all.
I knelt beside her and placed my hands on her forearm. I comforted her, stroked her hair and told her that everything was going to be ok. She hiccuped a few more sobs and then dropped her hands.
Her eyes crested over the tips of her fingers like the moonrise over snowcapped mountains. The eyeliner and mascara trailing faintly down her cheeks. Carried in the rivulets of her tears. More tears, waiting to breach over her eyelids and join their sisters working their way down her face to her neck, sat ready to go.
At that momet, that precise moment, in her vulnerability I saw her at her most feminine. I saw her at her most beautiful. I could feel the stirring in my loins. Something about her vulnerability was sexually exciting to me.
I took her hand and began to tell her everything was ok. I stroked the side of her face, wiping away her tears using my index finger like an impromptu squeegee. I cleared her short cut hair from her face and she cupped my hand in hers.
I saw the look that set it all in motion. The look and the posturing of her head and neck that sent out the signal. The signal like the landing lights put on for the pilot flying in at twilight, guiding him in to home. The look that said 'kiss me'.
Before I could think about it I leaned in toward her lips. She accepted me as I lightly landed my lips on hers. She opened her mouth and I felt her tongue proding inquisitively at my own lips. I parted them and our tongues met, swirling around each other as I held the back of her head in my hand and she placed her hand on the side of my face.
Her kisses tasted like strawberry. Strawberry mingled with the saltiness of her tears. There was also the familiar hint of electricity you feel when that special connection is made. The connection that tells you all things are possible, if you dare to proceed.
I dared and she lead me.
Our kiss lingered serveral moments. Each of us taking the time to thoroughly explore one another. I broke the kiss and stood up, taking her hand in mine. We kissed again, this time wrapping our arms around each other and drawing ourselves closer.
At that moment I was very aware that my cock was growing. It was stirring and there was no hiding it or stopping it. I was also aware that the most obvious sign of my sexual arousal was pressing against her leg.
She drew me closer.This time she broke the kiss and looked up at me, her 5' 1" frame considerably below mine.
"It seems as though you are excited. Does my misfortune excite you?" She looked me straight in the eye as her hand twirled around on my chest, playing seductively with my tie.
In that moment I knew that I had misread her all these years. Sure I had seen the confidence in her walk and the way she spoke, but I had always believed that she was propper. That she was classy, that there was no way she could be a temptress. I was about to learn how wrong I was about her.
My wife is a very seductive woman. The kind that emits a sexal energy that draws you in, makes you want to be possessed by her. Very dominant and in control, her sexuality is overt and commanding.
Amy was the flip side of the same coin. She oozed sexuality with her very feminine frame and mannerisms, but, unlike my wife, she was not the type of dominant personality that you wanted to take you.
Amy had a submissive vibe that was alluring, a vibe that she obviously knew how to play. A vibe and an attraction that played the other side of the feminine seductress role. The kind that appeared vulnerable, luring you in. The kind that screamed out 'take me', making you feel like you were chasing her down like a cheetah on the Serengeti. All the while she was the one actually stalking you from the shadows, waiting to pounce while you were distracted by the lures she had put forth, shimmering to attract you.
She knew how to play her cards well. She parted the top of her blouse slightly and drew my head forward to her bossom. As her top opened up I could see that she was wearing some style of support bra that held her breasts up and out while leaving her nipples uncovered.
