(For Rich, Davis and Marty, who always encourage me to tell all).
If K. Linford Little was anything, it was a creature of habit. He liked eating ham and eggs weekends at diners, listening to soft rock and cheering his beloved hockey team.
He loved his family, his work and his weekly golf game at the club.
Oh, and he liked me. Yes, he loved his family, and said he loved his wife, and he still found time to sneak around with me.
My name is Robyn, and I used to work for the man who by nearly all standards is a pillar of the community. He is a Boy Scout leader, coaches Little League, attends Chamber meetings and takes his wife to the Opera...willingly. Oh, and the man many years my senior absolutely loves to have his dick sucked.
That's where I come in. Years ago Mr. Little was my boss and we had a thing. I broke it off when I realized he was using me for my, uh, special talents, while I had thought he would ultimately leave his wife and we'd live happily together. It wasn't to be.
Once apart, I moved on. I continued the single life, complete with some highs and lows before shacking up with a nice guy my age. That relationship was, and is a nice, comfortable one. It is safe, secure and in nearly all ways the kind of relationship any girl would love to be in...except that something was missing for me.
It wasn't attention, because my boyfriend adored me. He'd leave me love notes, send me flowers at work, do all the kind of things a girl loves. It wasn't the sex, because truthfully, it was (and is) superb. He's loving, caring, and I can honestly say that on most occasions I fell asleep after writhing through orgasmic bliss.
Still, something was missing. Looking back, it had to be the covert, living on the edge danger that fooling around with Mr. Little did for me.
As mentioned in an earlier story, after we got back together Mr. Little and I regularly met for fun and games, and at his insistence the majority of our rendezvous were in or near his car. The man was a car sex freak, no doubt about it. Oh, sure, we'd sometime rent a room and get it on behind closed doors, but his, and my to some extent, passions were white hot when we were in a semi-public locale.
It had to be the danger, the threat of being caught. The possibility that someone might spy on us, observing our illicit behavior. Over the years several had, some my accident, but more recently, by design. Our recent in-car naughtiness included me blowing the graying mane man while he was driving down a local interstate highway. He'd ensure my ass was bare and available for observation by truck drivers as I worked on his dick. All the while he'd give me a play-by-play, blow-by-blow, description of the action.
Our most recent get-together illustrated once again how he liked to push the envelope. Not enough to get caught, but surely enough to get to the edge of having someone catch us in the act.
My boyfriend was playing golf when Mr. Little called on my cell phone.
"Hi Robyn, can you talk?"
I assured him I could, and that it was great to hear from him. He was at the local Hilton, attending a financial briefing with his wife. During a break she went to the ladies room while he slipped upstairs to a phone bank and gave me a call.
"I was hoping we could get together Monday for lunch," said Mr. Little, lunch being our code word for food and a quickie.
Unfortunately my Monday was jam-packed, as was Tuesday and Wednesday due to a number of executives being at my office. During their conference I oversaw the "command center", taking messages, making copies, doing whatever it took to keep things moving along.
Mr. Little was more than a small bit disappointed. "Robyn, I miss you."
"I miss you too! But I do have to work. And the boss wants me there."
We spoke for a minute when Mr. Little offered a suggestion. "We're going to be here all day. Want to have some fun?"
"What are you thinking? Isn't your wife there?"
