The Bosss Wife 2

My boss throws a Christmas party every year at his house.

When I was a simple intern, learning the ropes under Ms. Woods, I wasn't invited.

Now that I have her job, my boss can't very well exclude me, can he? Even after what we did, or should I say, I did, in his office a few weeks back? Wouldn't it look insane for his secretary not to be there?

The invite came a couple days ago and I immediately RSVP'd. I wasn't going to miss this for the world.

More than anything, I wanted to see what my boss had run off to, what the other woman looked like, acted like, what she was. What she had that I didn't.

I reach out and ring the doorbell as I stand in front of the rather large door on this rather large estate house. When I pulled up just a couple minutes ago, the first words out of my mouth were, "Holy Fucking Shit!"

The door is answered by a butler. I'm wondering how the fuck my boss can afford this place as I hand him my coat and take my purse back from him. I've chosen my red sequined gown for tonight's occasion. I like to think that it's stunning on me. I've yet to get a complaint. Men seem to go crazy about the plunging back and the slit up the side.

I step into what I guess passes for a living room and take in the sight. There have to be at least fifty people here already, with fifty more probably still to come.

And I spot them over by the wine cabinet, shaking hands and smiling and waving to other people. I try to catch my boss's eye but he's too busy with everyone else, gladhanding and what-not.

But it's not so for his wife. She's a blonde, just like me. In fact, she almost looks like me for a half-second and maybe it's just me imaging myself in her place but I don't think so. She turns away from her husband and starts toward me and I see she's not exactly like me. She's pretty as hell, though.

And then she's standing in front of me. "Anna Kellogg," she says. It's not a question.

"Yes?"

"Dan has told me so much about you," she says. "I didn't think I'd be able to pick you out of a crowd like this but, like I said, Dan's told me so much about you, I feel like I know you."

"Good things, I hope," I say and then laugh a little. A man with a tray of champagne comes over and Dan's wife and I take a flute each.

She sips and I follow and then she says, "Mostly. But he told me about something else. And I just can't believe him. So I've come to ask you about it."

My heart is leaping again, just as it was a few weeks back. She's going to ask it, I know she is. And then she does.

"Did you really fuck? The two of you, I mean."

Dan is a bit of a liar, isn't he?

How do I say this? Do I just say, "Well, ma'am, actually, I just blew your husband. Then he ran off and went to dinner with you"? I can't believe that he actually told his wife. What kind of guy is my boss anyway? Shit, I don't even know his wife's name.

So I just go for it. "Actually, what's your name?"

"Cynthia," Dan's wife says. I look at her face as she tells me her name. She's not knitting her brows or scowling or anything. In fact, her face remains passive as she sips on her champagne.

"Actually, Cynthia," I say, "It's a long story."

Cynthia puts her champagne down and grabs my arm and takes me basically against my will out of the living room and into the kitchen. There are a couple of workers in there and Cynthia asks them to leave for a couple minutes. One of the chefs protests but she tells him that she won't hold him responsible for anything that goes wrong with the food.

"I thought maybe you'd want to tell this story to me some place quieter."

What the fuck is wrong with these people, I wonder as I sit down at the small table in this large kitchen. Cynthia takes a seat across from me. I take a sip of liquid courage and start with the telling.

After Ms. Woods left, I figured I had no chance to take over her job. I figured it would go to one of the women or men that had more experience. But, apparently, Dan liked something he saw in me.

And, for three months, I understood why I had the job I did. At first, I thought about quitting because of it, because Dan was a fucking pervert and fantasized about me being naked. Maybe he even fantasized about fucking me.

But then I thought about not having money or a job or a life or anything and then I thought about Dan and about turning the tables on him.

"A few weeks back, I decided I had had enough and I took matters into my own hands, so to speak," I tell Cynthia. "I blew your husband but that's as far as it went, despite what I wanted and what I'm sure Dan wanted."

I brace myself against the slap that is sure to come but when it doesn't, I open my eyes and see Cynthia just smiling.

Again, I wonder what is wrong with these people.

"You're not the first," Cynthia tells me. "And if I'm being honest, thinking about someone fucking Dan or, in your case, blowing him, kinda gets me hot."

I just shake my head side to side as I sip my champagne. Cynthia reaches out and takes my flute glass and then stands over me and pulls me to my feet. Again, she takes me against my will up the spiral staircase at the other end of the kitchen.

I have no idea where we're going but I have a good idea what's going to happen when we get there.

And then we're there and Cynthia is cupping my face in her hands and kissing me and then our tongues are slapping against each other. Her hands are hot as they slip to my spaghetti straps and she's pushing my dress off me. It pools on the floor and I'm naked except for the garter belt that holds my stockings in place.

Cynthia is on her knees instantly and I'm playing with her hair as she licks and nips at my shaved snatch, playfully rolling her tongue across my pussy lips. This is the kind of attention that I wanted from Cynthia's husband a few weeks ago but never got.

Cynthia's tongue makes its way up my slit and between my lips and finds my clit. She sucks it into her mouth and rolls it around and against her tongue. My knees are rapidly going weak and I'm moaning her name.

"Oh, yeah, that's it," I say to her as I push at the back of her head, trying to guide her even further into my cunt. Her hands are around me and against my ass, pushing me forward at the same time.

Her tongue is so deep inside of me I feel like I'm being fucked by a cock. My legs are shaking and I'm about to come.

And then I'm over the edge, screaming out loud, moaning so loudly I'm sure they can hear me downstairs. Slowly, Cynthia slides her tongue from my steaming warmth and then she's back on her feet, feeding me my sweet nectar.

"I taste so good," I say as she leaves my mouth and she laughs.

"Yes, you do," she says in response.

Cynthia stoops to pick up my dress and hands it to me. I know what she wants me to do but I don't want to leave her just yet and I start across the room for her.

"I gave you what my husband wouldn't or couldn't," she tells me. "We'll see each other again." And then Cynthia's out the door and back at her party, leaving me to get dressed.