My name is Morgan Thomas. I was blessed with, by all standards, a beautiful face and a perfect body built for sex. I've been turning men's heads since I was eighteen, when my body blossomed. Now I needed this job and was confident my tits and legs would tip the scales in my favor. I tried to relax, but I was nervous and needed this job. Then I breathed a sigh of relief; the head of human resources was a man.
The interview went without a problem. I knew I had him from the time I sat down, making sure the beginnings of my stocking tops were showing; it never failed. I still don't know what it is about nylons; their power over men is unbelievable. Especially with sheer black nylons, which is the reason I chose them. I made sure to seem coy and innocent; I had him right where I wanted him. To seal the deal, I made a production of taking off my jacket and putting my arms at my sides, forcing my tits out; the white wool top clung to my body, showing every detail of my shelf bra. There was no question that the job was mine, with just one interview and a salary that was more than I had expected.
I love my job in sales, the people are nice, and there is no pressure, and it was my first job where we got bonuses. It was Friday, the end of a quarter, and everyone got a bonus, so the bosses all left early; I could go as soon as I was done.
Shortly after lunch, one of the men from a private bookkeeping firm doing the company's year-end taxes was walking by; he stopped and introduced himself. I had noticed him checking me out and wondered when he would make a move. His name was Sam, and I put him in his sixties, so of course, I started feeling a tingling in my pussy, that I got when I was around older men. I swung my legs around, giving him a little show, and it was not lost on him. We talked for a while, and I was not surprised when he asked me to go out for coffee or a drink after work; I accepted, and we met at a small bar near the office.
The conversation was easy, maybe because it was a nice change, unlike young guys who only wanted to get me into bed or on my knees with their dick in my mouth. He was a widower with a son in college. We spent the next two hours talking, and I was flattered when he asked me out to dinner Saturday night; I accepted without hesitation. I settled into bed that night feeling like a schoolgirl going on my first date.
I married when I was seventeen years old and three months pregnant. I miscarried in my sixth month, and we divorced the following year when we found out that I would not be able to have children.
Now at twenty-five, I wanted to have some kind of relationship with a man who wasn't married. Whatever the reason, I had good feelings about Sam, despite the fact he was at least thirty years older than me and maybe had a different idea of what a relationship meant; I had no idea what I was getting into.
I spent Saturday getting my nails and hair done; I wanted to make a good impression; he might be the one. I was tired of living by myself, just getting by.
I wanted to look extra nice, so I went shopping and picked up some sheer black stockings and a black push-up bra, although my boobs didn't need it; my 34 d boobs barely fit into the lacey cups, but I liked the look. I wasn't planning to go too far on the first date; I wasn't a whore, nor a prude; maybe I just liked how sexy underwear gave me much-needed confidence, and who knows, before the night was over, he might end up seeing them.
Shortly after my divorce, I experienced deep depression; my self-worth was low, my ex had moved in with a beautiful girl, and shortly after that, they got married. I felt like a loser. My well-meaning sister was worried about me and had moved in. It was nice for a while, but I needed male attention in the worst way.
The biggest problem was that the men I could be interested in were all married, and I didn't want to wreck a marriage just for fun. The one blind date my sister had set up for me didn't go so well, he was my age, and the date turned into a "grope fest," with him trying to get me drunk. When the date was over, and it was time for a good night kiss, he grabbed me, forcing his tongue in my mouth and, at the same time, taking my hand and putting it on his rock-hard cock; it felt like a piece of iron, I gave it a quick squeeze and broke away. I was pissed and told him the date was over and don't call me again. It's a shame, he had a nice-sized dick, and I could have used it, but I didn't like him. I was going into my apartment when I heard him say,
"No wonder your husband left you."
It stung, and it wasn't true; if he knew how good I sucked cock, he would have kicked himself in the ass. But that was it for blind dates. Now this possible relationship with Sam had my hopes up.
Sam picked me up at eight; I was as nervous as possible; I had chosen the only black dress I had that covered my knees and had a turtleneck. It was still hard to downplay my boobs, which was hard, they tended to sway if I walked too fast, but at least no cleavage was exposed, and it just fit nicely without clinging to me. I chickened out on the garter belt and opted instead for pantyhose. I chose my three-inch pumps, the lowest high heels I owned; I just didn't want to come on too strong; I took it easy on the makeup, no dark eye shadow or hoop earrings.
We had a great time; I was so relaxed with him; while he was very polite and attentive and maybe a little controlling, I was the type of woman that needed a firm hand. I may have been a little submissive, but I need a self-confident man to keep me in line.
What I liked about him the most was he didn't try and get me drunk, like most guys do.
We were talking about our families when he asked about my mother. He said he had known a woman in town, and I looked a lot like her but with a different last name. I told him yes, that was my mother, but I hadn't talked with her for years; I didn't say she had kicked me out, so she could entertain her many boyfriends. She had been a stripper at a local club and had been fired for giving blow jobs in the back room. What a stigma to be the daughter of the local whore; I hoped he didn't think I was the same. There was an awkward silence, and he saw it made me uncomfortable and dropped the subject.
When he took me home, we kissed lightly, and I said I enjoyed myself; he agreed and said he would call. It had been a perfect date, and I was feeling good. Later that night, I had a couple of glasses of wine and got comfortable in bed; I let my hand stray to my slit; thinking about him had gotten me wet, so I slid one, then two fingers in my cunt, working on my clit, I brought myself to a decent orgasm. I was resting on my back, somewhat satisfied, licking my fingers, wishing I were getting pounded doggy style. I thought of Sam and hoped he was up to it as I drifted off to sleep.
Sam called me the next day and said his country club was having a fundraiser next Saturday, and I would like to go? I said sure, it sounded like fun.
I hadn't felt this good in years; the week flew by. He called me Friday to confirm our date and said he would pick me up around seven. Sam didn't know it yet, but he would get "lucky" tomorrow night.
I had never been to a country club before and hoped I hadn't overdressed; as we pulled up to the valet stand, I was shocked to see some women in gowns. I wore a black cocktail dress that barely reached my knees, with a black choker that highlighted my long neck. I was showing quite a bit of cleavage. When we pulled up to the valet, I slipped on black opera-length gloves I had stuffed into my purse, just in case. The young man who opened my door was treated to a show of stocking tops as I slid out. My garter belt and stockings made me feel sexy and desirable, which is vital for a woman.
"You look very nice," he said, staring at my exposed nylons, mentally undressing me.
The fundraiser bore me; I was the youngest woman and by far the best-looking. As soon as Sam went to the bar, I was hit on by several "Happily" married men that I ignored, but it felt good knowing that men still wanted me.
I noticed Sam talking intensely with two men; they were smiling and nodding their heads. They turned and were looking my way. All of a sudden, I felt very vulnerable. They talked for a few minutes, then they looked at their watches and patted Sam on the back as he started my way with our drinks.
"I hadn't seen those guys in a while, you would like them, Morgan."
"I'm sure I would, what kind of drink is this, it smells like medicine?"
"It's a Manhattan, you'll like it."
I slowly drank it; it wasn't bad, just strong; I started feeling it right away, I had decided to let Sam have sex with me tonight, and I didn't want to spoil it by getting too drunk.
Sam whispered in my ear,
