Thanks for choosing to read 'Hillary' and for giving me the opportunity to share my story with you.
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Everyone in this story is over eighteen but if you aren't, or if you are offended by sexually explicit material, stop reading now, close this page, and go and do something else.
Ingenue
xx
This story is the intellectual property of the author and cannot be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form without written consent.
It was the start of another working day and along with a dozen or so others I stood silently in the foyer waiting for the elevator to take me up to the fourteenth floor. At eighteen I was just out of school and a few weeks into my first fulltime job with an international merchant bank in the city.
The advertisement in our weekend newspaper a few weeks before had caught my eye and, without a great deal of confidence, I'd applied for the position of 'Executive Assistant'. A few days after I sent in my résumé I was surprised to get a phone call asking me to come in for an interview and stunned when, the next day, I received an email offering me the position.
Mum and Dad told me they were proud of me but, in truth, I think they were simply relieved. I'd finished year twelve but wasn't quite ready to commit to university. I felt I needed a little time to decide what I really wanted to do before taking the plunge. My parents were worried that I'd drop out and drift into some dead-end job without completing my education. I didn't understand why they would be concerned because that's not me at all - I guess parents are a bit like that.
I knew I would eventually go to university but for the next year or so I was happy to try a few different things and this seemed like a good opportunity to get a taste of what it was like to have a real, fulltime job. I was pleased because it also meant the end of casual weekend work at the department store and nights at the Italian restaurant, where the owner kept hinting that I could earn a lot more if I stayed behind after work occasionally.
At the interview, the job had sounded interesting and challenging and although my title was 'Executive' Assistant' and I had my own personalised business card and corporate mobile phone, I was really no more than a junior office girl.
Usually my days were spent filing, taking phone calls, making appointments, organising lunch, running personal errands and making cups of organic, green tea for my boss, Hillary. It certainly wasn't what I'd expected, and after just a month in the job I realised that being Hillary's private gopher really wasn't for me.
The work was mundane and boring but I liked Hillary. She was a successful career woman in her late thirties, tall and slim with short, stylish blonde hair that was cut short, just above her shoulders. Occasionally she wore it pulled back in a pony tail that gave her a sporty look and highlighted her strong, sensual features.
Most of all I liked her manner which was direct and uncompromising. If I did something wrong she let me know and when I did a good job she was generous with her praise.
The previous week I had organised a conference for twenty of the bank's executives and senior managers. It was a lot of work but on the day everything went well and I was proud of what I achieved.
Hillary had left all of the organising to me and was very pleased with how smoothly everything went. At the end of the conference she thanked me publicly and the day after she had took me out to lunch as a reward for a job well done.
For lunch she chose an expensive restaurant overlooking the river and ordered for both of us. She had Atlantic salmon with a green salad and a glass of Eden Valley Riesling. For me it was duck breast and a glass of Tasmanian Pinot Noir, both of which were fantastic.
During the meal I saw a very different side of Hillary to the one she presented at work. We laughed a lot and occasionally she reached across and lightly brushed the back of my hand with the tips her long, elegant fingers, making me shiver.
We talked about all sorts of things. I told her about my experience with boys, which was very limited and she told me about her marriage to a wealthy and well known barrister, which seemed to be a bit dull.
I told her about my recent camping holiday in Victoria with my best friend Anna, and although I left out some of the more intimate details, I think she guessed that we had been lovers and was a little envious.
Towards the end of the meal, she excused herself and went to the ladies room. When she came back she looked a little flushed and I noticed that the top two buttons of her white, silk blouse were undone, revealing the beginning of the gentle swell of her firm, full breasts.
I was sure that she was wearing a bra when we arrived but as she sat down I could see the outline of her hard nipples against the thin, tightly stretched fabric of her blouse. I tried unsuccessfully not to stare. She noticed and smiled. I was embarrassed and blushed.
When we got up to leave she gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. The sensation of her warm soft lips against my skin, the pleasure of her firm breasts pressed against my chest and her hand on my butt increased the warm tingling sensation between my legs that had started while we were chatting.
We left the restaurant and walked back to the car in silence, both absorbed in our own thoughts. It was a warm day and the sun was shining but the flush on my skin and the burning in my loins had nothing to do with the temperature of the day.
As we reached the car Hillary suddenly put her hands on my shoulders, pushed me back against the hot metal bodywork of her black BMW and kissed me. My mouth yielded to her assault and her tongue found its way between my lips. Her hand was on my breast and she pressed her sex against my leg. She took my hand and placed it inside her blouse on her naked breast. When she put her hand between my legs all I could do was moan.
"Not here. Not now. Please," I panted, secretly hoping she would ignore my plea, conscious and excited but also a little embarrassed by the attention we were attracting.
She pulled away and smiled. "No Catherine, not now but later." And with that promise she got in the car and started the engine.
Back at the office I went straight to the ladies room and masturbated. The taste of Hillary's kiss was still on my lips and the smell of her subtle fragrance lingered. Closing my eyes I saw the desire in her sparkling blue eyes and the smile on her face as she pushed me back against the car and kissed me. I put my hand under my top and remembered how wonderful it had felt when she touched me there, and how, in contrast to my tiny breasts; hers had completely filled my hand.
Pretending it was Hillary I slipped my hand inside my panties and slid a finger between the delicate folds of my labia. As I stroked myself I remembered her words, "No Catherine, not now but later." But I couldn't wait any longer.
As my orgasm started I heard someone enter the cubical next to mine. It was too late to stop so I jammed the fist in my mouth hoping to muffle my moans, but a knowing laugh told me that whoever it was knew what was happening on the other side of the thin partition. Hopefully they didn't know it was me.
Back at my desk I tried to do some work, but couldn't concentrate. Hillary had meetings the rest of the afternoon and I didn't see her again before I left to go home. I needed to see her and talk to her, perhaps explain. Maybe I simply needed her to take me in her arms and kiss me again.
Her last words, "No Catherine, not now but later", played over and over in my mind and I prayed that she wouldn't make me wait too long.
That evening I went to the gym and spent a punishing fifteen minutes on the treadmill before pushing myself to the limit in the weights room. I worked through my routine of bench press, chins, curls, tricep extensions, cable rows, leg extension, leg curls and squats. To finish off I did crunches and sit ups until the muscles in my stomach were burning and I could barely move.
At home I had a shower, prepared and ate dinner, checked my emails and went to bed. Alone in the dark I waited for the refuge of sleep, but when it finally came I dreamt about her.
In my dream we were in her car. She was driving the BMW much faster than she should. I was in the front passenger seat. She was wearing the same black skirt, white, silk blouse and black, leather shoes that she had worn to lunch that day. Her blouse was unbuttoned almost to her navel and I could see her firm round breast, crowned by a hard pointed nipple. I was naked.
It was raining and there was the low growl of the high performance engine, the hiss of the tyres on the wet road and the swish of the windscreen wipers on the glass. We stopped at traffic lights and she made me spread my legs, put my feet up on the dashboard and masturbate. Pedestrians crossing in front of the car watched as they walked past. She leant over, took my hand and placed it on her breast, kissed me and I came.
I woke up hot and sweaty in a tangle of damp bed clothes. My heart was pounding in my chest and my breath coming in short, raspy gasps. I kicked off the quilt and masturbated again. It only took a few seconds and between sobs of pleasure I moaned her name as I came. Exhausted I fell into a light fitful sleep.
In the morning I skipped breakfast, showered, dressed quickly and left for work, impatient to see her again.
The wait for the elevator seemed to be longer than usual, and totally immersed in my thoughts about the events of the previous day, I didn't notice when it eventually arrived. Without me realising it the doors had already opened and I was carried forward as the mass of people pressed forward, carrying me along with them.
Suddenly I found myself towards the back of the car surrounded by a wall of human flesh. Glancing around, I saw a few familiar faces. Some I recognised as colleagues at the bank. There were one or two other regulars who I assumed worked on other floors in the building.
The doors of the lift closed with a hiss and we waited in an awkward silence. After what seemed like an eternity the car started, the sudden movement catching me by surprise. Off balance I stumbled, bumping against the person behind me and felt a steadying hand on my shoulder.
Without turning to see who it was I mumbled a meaningless apology.
"Sorry."
"That's okay Catherine." The voice and the subtle and familiar fragrance told me immediately that it was Hillary.
The elevator slowed and came to a stop at the first floor. The doors opened and everyone shuffled back to make room for more passengers. As it started again, Hillary's hand slid down my arm to my waist and around to my stomach, her fingers finding their way inside the waist band of my skirt.
Startled by the unexpected intrusion I turned my head and mouthed, "No," but she didn't understand or simply ignored my plea and continued to slip her hand down the front of my skirt until she reached the bare skin just above my panties.
My heart was pounding and I was sure everyone in the elevator could hear it thundering inside my chest. Nervously I glanced around but they were all staring intently at the changing numbers on the illuminated panel beside the door, apparently oblivious to what was happening.
As the elevator slid smoothly upwards Hillary slid her hand over my stomach, quickly cupped and squeezed my breast then was gone.
