This is a five-part series of stories dealing with my infatuation with a powerful man and how I fall under his spell and become his submissive. Each part will stand alone as an erotic adventure but for continuity it is suggested that you read them in numerical order.
I know that readers like to visualise the characters they read about and describing myself becomes repetitive in a series so let me describe myself here. I am 5' 7" tall and weigh 140lbs, yes a little more than I would like. I have full breasts and take a 36D cup bra. I have blonde, spiky hair that sometimes has darker streaks in it and blue eyes. Oh and also I wear glasses.
Love
Jayne
*
After my divorce, although I didn't need the money I had gone back to work. Only part time though, 3 days a week and I had loved almost every minute of the six months I had been at the ad agency in Covent Garden. Whilst the travelling in from Essex on the Central Line could be a bit of a pain I even enjoyed that. It was sort of exciting for a forty-eight-year-old woman to be ogled at and groped on the crowded rush hour trains.
I worked in a market research group that provided data for both the creative and account handling teams of the agency as well as selling our research services and a cloud based product. It was headed up by a very tasty guy in his early fifties who had sold his successful research consultancy to this American owned global advertising and promotions group. Lance was incredibly bright but managed to combine his mensa level intelligence, with a common sense, down to earth manner and oodles of charm. That combination has always been a massive turn on for me and when in the presence of intelligence and charisma it's as if I can feel my knicker elastic loosening!
I guess the main reason I had gone back after so many years away was that I was lonely. I had recently got divorced, our two children were as good as off our hands, I had help in the house with cleaning, washing and ironing and I had a gardener so there was little for me to do! In the end there is only so much golf and tennis one can play or shopping one can do!
The divorce had come as a shock. Although the marriage had become rather mundane and sex had dwindled to the not even once a week level I hadn't thought we were anywhere near the splitting up stage. At first I questioned myself. Had I lost my looks? Had my mumtum got larger, was I carrying a little too much round the hips, had my 36D tits sagged too far? Maybe my spiky, blonde hair was out of fashion or had he gone off women in glasses that he had years ago told me were sexy? I checked old photos, many of me in underwear, topless or naked that he had taken to spice things up. That reassured me. I had hardly changed in probably ten years. Was I expecting too much from him? Was more frequent sex and some creativity and experimentation too much to ask for? Arrogant though it might be, I couldn't see how it was my fault.
Other than a slip when we had been married around ten years when I had a three month fling with a tennis coach, I had been faithful as I believe, in the main he had, but who knows on business trips with platinum Amex cards?
John and I had discussed it and he had suggested that maybe we try swinging, but nothing came of it. However, the tacit agreement to partner share sort of lifted the restrictions on seeing others although that was not discussed.
Like some of my friends my views on sex and fidelity had changed as I sauntered into and then started swaggering through my forties. I read that this was quite common and was the reason for so many divorces with people in that age range. It seemed that as I got older sex became less important. Not the amount or type for I was finding I wanted more of all types, but in the value I placed on it, particularly about giving it away. In discussions with both real friends, girls I had known for years and those at the golf and tennis clubs, and virtual ones I met on a couple of chat sites I visited, we all agreed that we wanted more and would give it away easier. Not that I had but I think I, along with many others, was being groomed, by TV, films, books and society in general to become modestly promiscuous.
And it was with that thinking and sexual philosophy that after the divorce was completed and John had moved in with his thirty-two-year-old bimbo, I started working again in the West End of London in trendy Covent Garden in an ad agency where I am not sure PC had arrived let alone 'me too'!
I reported directly to the boss man, Lance Evlin, and we worked very closely together. Maybe too closely!
In his early fifties, he was married with grown up children, lived on a farm in Tetbury, Gloucester not far from Prince Charles residence, Highgrove at weekends and in a company owned house in Regent's Park when at work. He had made a stack of money selling his research business to the agency for which we now worked. He led a pretty glamorous life in that his employment contract following the sale required him to work only 30 weeks of the year and then if he chose to, which he mostly didn't, just 4 days a week. He had holiday homes in Florida and Italy, drove a top of the range Porsche and entertained Marketing and Managing Directors of clients at least two and often more times a week. The entertaining was not just lunches and dinners at top London restaurants but also attending events such as test matches, Henley, Wimbledon, horse racing' Glyndebourne and the Monaco and British grand prix.
After a few months I was, I realised, enamoured with him. And that became more so when he started taking me with him to meetings, on business lunches and dinners and to the odd event. As he said, smiling.
"Never hurts to have some hot tottie around with these lecherous old buggers."
My enamourment was not just about his looks, brain and lifestyle but also at the way he so easily handled meetings and manipulated his 'opposition' and that I was beginning to realise included me. Slowly, but obviously I thought, he was indicating that he was up for more than a business relationship and it appeared to me, assumed that I was too and that we would have one. I was not that surprised to realise that he was correct and that excited me.
At first I discounted the option. Not so much from morality or faithfulness points of view but more from he would have 'bigger fish to fry' than me; younger, more beautiful and so on. I knew he was married for the third time and the current Mrs Lance was a late twenties ex model.
As it happens nothing was really discussed, there was no plan or, indeed, proposition. Simply one afternoon following a long and successful lunch with some managers from a fast food company he said.
"Perhaps a coffee at the flat Jay?"
Maybe I should have demurred and said no. But to be honest that didn't occur to me. I went along with his suggestion
His chauffeur had picked us up at Claridges where we had enjoyed a lovely lunch and had whisked us across town from Mayfair in the west to Regent's Park in the north. It was a lovely house with great views through the floor to ceiling French Windows that were open across the garden and the park.
As we drank the lovely Meursault white wine we talked. We talked about a whole range of topics from office tittle tattle to Trump and Boris, both of whom he loathed, to the situation in the Middle East, films and TV we had seen and books we had read even politics and religion! He fascinated me with his breadth of interest and knowledge and quite frankly the more he talked so metaphorically the looser became my knicker elastic. Intelligence has always been my fetish!
"So what do you do with yourself outside of work Jayne?"
"Not a lot, though rather more since my divorce and joining the agency as either, I work late or go to the pub as there's always some of the team there." I told him.
"I was wondering how some of your late night work went with your family and social life."
Smiling, I replied, crossing my legs and noting his eyes on them. "Well there's little of either nowadays."
"Late night work or family life?" he asked, smiling as he poured more wine for us both.
As I leaned forward to get the glass from the low coffee table I knew my button up, white blouse gaped and my 36D boobs and bra would be exposed. I thought of putting my hand on my blouse to stop it but I don't like seeing women do that so I let it gape. As I straightened up with the crystal glass in my hand I saw as our glances met that he had a wry grin on his face. He raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded, but nothing was said.
"The latter," I said adding. "There's plenty of the former."
"Yes I have seen you there often after seven."
"Well actually I don't have much else to do in the evenings."
"Hey you must have boyfriends and go on dates."
"Not often."
"Really an attractive woman like you?"
"I don't like dating much."
"Don't you er, um miss having a man around."
"Why would I?"
"Well one very obvious reason Jayne."
Tilting my head to one side and looking right into his eyes I said smiling. "And what could that be Lance?"
Holding my gaze he replied as cool as a cucumber. "Probably the reason we are here now."
I could hardly believe what I was hearing nor the easy, super confident way he was saying it. My heart pounded and I felt tingling all over my body. Nobody had ever come onto me like this before and I couldn't work out just what it was that was making me tingle most; his manner, the implied suggestion or the possibility that we would have sex. I had not been in any sort of seduction position for years and never with anyone as charismatic and powerful as him. I didn't know what to say or the stance to adopt, flirty, casual, serious or denial. I was so out of my depth. However, somehow words formed in my mind and popped out of my mouth.
"And what is that Lance?"
"Oh Jayne, I think you know very well indeed."
"Do I?"
"Yes you do, don't you?"
I knew that he was playing me now, teasing me and taking me even further away from my comfort zone.
I whimpered. "Yes I think so."
"That's good Jayne that you do, I'm pleased."
I didn't reply to that largely because I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. He filled the silence by continuing.
"I am very pleased that you know that Jayne so we won't have to beat around the 'will she won't she bush' will we?" he said standing up and looking down at me.
His smooth directness impressed and rather frightened me. I felt helpless, and falling under his spell. Certainly I had no will to resist him and that scared me. How could I so easily be seduced seemingly willingly almost eagerly? How could a man so apparently effortlessly control and direct me? It was almost as if he hypnotised or drugged me. On top of all that I was tremendously aroused. I knew that my womanly juices would be in free fall and that my nipples would be pounding; I was pleased that I was wearing a suit jacket to cover that embarrassment.
I stood up too. We were a few feet apart. I was nervous and I thought we would embrace and he would kiss me. I was wrong. Nothing so conventional, which I learned later was how he operated; different to most everyone else.
"Why don't you take that nice suit jacket off Jayne, let me see your figure."
God what is he doing? I asked myself having no idea on the answer but also having no wish at all to resist. I took it off and of course my always quite prominent and now rock hard nipples were thrusting against the semi-diaphanous, cotton blouse.
Sipping his wine as he stared at me, he smiled. "Mmmmm very nice Jayne, very nice indeed I had a hunch you had large nipples, I like that."
I wasn't sure whether I was or was not enjoying being directed by him and him ogling me. I knew that it probably should upset me and that I should resist such direction and behaviour but I just didn't have the strength of character to ignore his orders or object to his behaviour as I knew that both were turning me on. These internal issues were exacerbated when he said very softly.
"So Jayne you had better show them to me hadn't you?"
My heart seemed to crash against my rib cage when what he had just said fully registered with me. Not only did he want to see my bare breasts and nipples he wants me to expose them and flaunt them at him. I thought, he can't be bothered to do it himself and wants to embarrass and humiliate me by making me do it for him. I knew this meant that he was taking control of me and that could be dangerous and humiliating but for reasons that I couldn't fathom it aroused me and more worrying it excited me.
God what was happening to me I was thinking as I found my fingers fumbling at the third button down from the neck, the first from the top that was done up. That slipped undone and the blouse gaped further. I undid the next and avoiding any eye contact I fumbled the next three undone until the blouse was open all the way down to where it was tucked into the grey pinstripe skirt. Letting my hands slip to my sides I looked up at him. He was staring at where the blouse had parted and my cleavage and the swell of my breasts in the white, diaphanous, lacy bra were on show. The edges of the bra dissected each boob just covering each nipple.
"Mmmmm that's good Jayne now open the blouse a little more."
I knew of course what he wanted to see and I knew full well that my nipples and areola would be visible through my bra and that there would be large bumps in the thin material demonstrating clearly my arousal. Moving my gaze away from him I realised that I wanted him to see that, I wanted him to look at me and I wanted to show him.
