Richard was nervous. He had never cheated on his wife, even after 32 years of marriage.
He was 62 years-old and his wife was 55. He had been an executive in a major national advertising agency for years, and had been tempted time and time again by the dozens of nubile young women who populated Madison Avenue.
But, there was one female copywriter, Elaine, who worked on one of his accounts. She was in her late 20s or early 30s, and was very attractive. She was about 5 feet, six inches tall, and had wonderful mahogany-colored hair. It was a dark, lustrous brown, almost black, shot through with lovely red highlights. She was slim without being skinny, and round without being fat. She looked, to him, to be healthy. He liked that, he mused to himself as he thought about her.
Richard liked her eyes. They were sort of green and wide set with nice arching brows. Her nose was thin and straight, but not blade-like, and was on the petite side. But he loved her mouth. She had generous lips and a wide smile with straight, white teeth. He thought she must have Irish blood. She was almost the same age as his daughter, which made him feel guilty.
She tended to wear very beautiful, but muted business suits. They were usually black or charcoal gray, often with pinstripes. She almost always wore crisp white blouses with enough décolletage to show off the top of her breasts. He had often looked longingly at them, and when she bent over to show him a layout, he could see them encased in thin white, black or lacy peach-colored silk bras. He often could make out her nipples through her blouse. He wondered if she wore matching panties.
Most often she wore black stockings, which he hoped were thigh-highs rather than pantyhose. He sometimes sat at his desk, squeezing his turgid cock through his pants, as he fantasized her standing before him in one of her black bra and panty sets, thigh-high stockings with a darker paisley pattern around the elasticized tops, her feet encased in the black Ferragamo pumps she favored.
In the summer she often wore light-colored dresses that were just on the "business" side of sundresses. He liked seeing her in those. He could often catch a glimpse of her shape when she was backlit by a window. She had a nice shape, he thought. She had a nice ass. On really hot days he didn't think she wore stockings at all. That excited him.
She almost always wore a thin gold chain around her neck, which also drew attention to the soft skin of her breasts, which were lightly dusted with freckles. Could he really see the faint blue lines of veins running beneath her skin? He wondered. She also liked to wear small hoop-style earrings, and often a gold bracelet or watch.
Alas, she also wore a gold wedding and engagement ring combination on her left hand.
He would sigh sadly when he thought about that.
In the past few years sex with his wife, that had always been sort of mechanical anyway, tapered off to.., nothing. She said she thought they were too old for sex, and should be "over that" by now. Maybe she was right, but his penis still swelled pleasantly when he thought of Elaine the copywriter naked in his arms, her hands caressing his back and ass, her wonderful young breasts pressed against his chest as they kissed. He like to kiss with lots of tongue, which his wife had never liked much either. He knew Elaine's nipples would be rock hard and hot against him. He always saw her naked, but for her black stockings and black high heels. Once he came in his pants. He had spurted almost without warning as he sat behind his large executive desk, his hand in his lap. It woke him.
He must have been masturbating, dreaming of infidelity.
Embarrassed that he might have been seen, he quickly stuffed a few tissues into his pants to sop up his sperm and made a beeline to the men's room to clean up. He sat on the toilet and cleaned himself. He was amazed at the sheer volume of cum. He couldn't really remember rubbing himself enough to cum, but clearly he had. He removed his shorts and stuffed them into his pants pocket. Later he would dispose of them in a trash receptacle in Union Station on his way to his train to go home to his celibate life.
One late afternoon Elaine knocked at his door. She wanted to review some "work in progress" on a new campaign. She stood in the doorway, her rich mouth opened slightly, showing her small white teeth--waiting for his response. He focused on her lips. Her lipstick was red, but not too red; not blood red, certainly, but softer somehow but still enticing. She rested one hand against the door jam at about shoulder height, and the other clutched several sheets of paper. He noticed that her nails, which she kept trimmed, were coated in a matching color to her lipstick. Her dark, wavy hair tumbled over her ears, and rested lightly on her wide, but very feminine shoulders. He could just glimpse her gold earrings peaking through her hair on either side of her tapered white neck.
The way she stood in the door; one hand on the jam, one foot slightly in front of the other emphasized her ample breasts, the curve through her waist to her nice round hips. Her pose stretched both her blouse across her tits, and her shortish gray skirt across the slight curve of her belly. Her long, black silk-covered legs rose from her heels up to.., up to her "promise," he thought. He hardened, his cock suddenly crowding painfully within his pants, but he was too embarrassed to reach down and adjust himself.
He invited her in, wondering if her breasts were a large and round and firm as they appeared, or if what he was seeing was the result of some Victoria Secret push-up bra phenomenon. Either way, he thought, they would be wonderful to see; to touch and kiss, and to suckle. He wondered what color her aureole would be—dark against her very white Celtic skin.., or coral pink? Would her nipples poke out, or be small. He bet they would poke out so he could take them between his lips and nibble and suck them. His penis became even more engorged.
Before he knew it, she had placed some papers on the desk in front of him. Leaning over he watched her left hand, young and smooth, index finger pointing traced from one line to another. All along she seemed to murmur in his ear. Leaning forward to his left, could feel the weight of her right hand on the back of his chair, just behind his head. Richard felt her breast against his left shoulder. At least he thought it was her breast, but he was too nervous to steal a glance.
She exuded a subtle fragrance that wafted over him, igniting something primeval in him. He couldn't place what it was, but he realized that he was no expert of such things. He just knew that it teased some promise of something.., well, something hardly to be imagined. He felt her warmth through his shirt. It has to be her tit, he thought. Is it possible that my cock can get any harder? Ah, God!
"Yes," she said.
"What?" he said, turning his head to look at her for the first time. She was smiling. Her green eyes glittered. She pushed her hair back behind one ear with such unconscious grace that he almost fainted. He could see the gold hoop earring glinting in the light.
"Yes, you can fuck me..." she said simply.
"What? What are you saying," he said, suddenly overcome with fear; fear that he was hallucinating, or that he had had a stroke and hadn't noticed, or was dreaming while masturbating at this desk again.
"You asked me if you could fuck me," she said, smiling, still leaning over his desk at his side, "and I said, 'Yes'."
"I did?" he asked. "I asked you that? Out loud?" He could feel his face pulsing with embarrassment.
