The Secretary

I always knew what I wanted to do with my life, I wanted to start as a secretary, and progress to become a personal assistant to a high flyer. Already a proficient typist when it came to using computer keyboards and computers in general, I left high school and attended secretarial college. At college I developed further skills, shorthand, taking dictation, using typewriters and general secretarial responsibilities. A company offered me work experience during the summer vacations, and then offered me a permanent position after I graduated. I always considered myself as pretty, with a nice figure, as did the men, but it was made perfectly clear that I had no interest in them whatsoever, and therefore labeled a lesbian. However, when some of the women started chatting me up they found out that I wasn't interested in them either.

After being with the company nine months, the chairman's secretary handed in her notice, with her position advertised both within and external of the company, for which I submitted an application. There was a major problem, a black mark against my name. When I first joined the company as a permanent employee I made two calamitous basic mistakes, and was referred to after, as that dumb blond. Blond certainly, dumb I don't think so. Anyway, an interview was granted at which I presented my qualifications and asked if I was willing to take a test, basically typing and shorthand. It was also necessary to spend a day acting as the chairman's secretary, overseen by the woman whose position I was hoping to fill. Mr. Preston, who like to be called just Preston, nobody seemed to know his first name, offered me the position, of course everybody said that I only got the job because of my sex appeal.

Preston was a good boss and I liked him, and over the first few months I began to find out about his life and surprised when told he owned the company. Preston had been married, his wife died at an early age and he just immersed himself in the company working all hours. One day when I was pottering around his office filing documents, for the first time he began to talk to me on a personal level rather than a business level.

"Susan, what would you like out of life?"

"I would like a nice house, to be financially comfortable and secure, and have a family. I don't want to end up like my parents who have been struggling all their life."

Preston said, "It's unlikely that someone of your own age could give you that, only a more mature man could provide you with your dream. What about children don't you want them?"

"Yes I want children and marrying an older man is certainly an option I would enjoy, especially if he's kind to me."

"What do you mean by kind, give you lots of money; buy expensive presents and jewelry, fur coats that sort of thing?"

"No of course not, obviously I would like nice clothes but then again he would want me to look nice for him, but I mean kind in life and certainly kind and active in the bedroom. I would want us to be lovers but as the jewelry thing goes, I would like a nice engagement ring."

That's pretty well where the conversation ended, only the next day Preston called me into his office asked me to close the door and sit down pointing to the chair in front of his desk. He phoned reception and asked them to hold all his and my calls, and not put anybody through until he phoned them back. I thought that perhaps I had done something wrong, but no, he started to talk about the conversation we had the previous day.

"Susan, I thought about yesterday's conversation and what you want out of life, and your attitude towards older men. You know that I own the company, live in a nice house, albeit a large house, and that I'm wealthy, I have no children and I don't think I'm too old, therefore, hypothetically would you consider marrying me?"

"Preston is that an actual proposal? I know you don't love me any more than I love you, but with time who knows what will happen. If we were to marry, would you want me as your wife to stay at home and have your children; how would you guarantee I would be financially comfortable and secure?"

"Yes it is a proposal, I would like to marry you and have you raise our children, and to show you how committed to you I am, whether you stay at home or come to work is entirely up to you. I already have a house keeper and we could hire a nanny if you wish. As for the financial side, the day we marry I will give you a lump sum of $5 million dollars and $1million for every year we are together and put your name on the deeds of the house so we own half each. From that money you will purchase your clothes and anything you need that is personal to you, everything to do with our life together or the house I will pay for. However in the bedroom, as in our life together, there is to be no holding back you will have to be fully committed to me. That's the deal not very romantic is it?"

"Perhaps Preston, romance will come later, and yes I will marry you, but can we just have a quiet wedding? I don't want it spread around the company, but that's your decision."

We had quiet civil wedding, my parents were there; my father was concerned because I was marrying a much older man, someone more of his age, having previously asked if I knew what I was doing. Preston's attorneys were there, because of our marriage they had work to do on Preston's will and estate. There were also a few close friends. We honeymooned in Hawaii for two weeks which was when I became pregnant, resulting in me packing up work shortly after so that I could stay home and plan for our family. Preston was over the moon and I was happy to be having a child within the first year, and so the dumb blond became the boss's wife. Before the baby was born, my staying at home all day with very little to do became a bit of a drag, my cooking skills left a lot to be desired, so I spoke with Preston and asked if he would mind me attending the local culinary college. He thought it a great idea; normally he entertained clients by taking them out to dinner and now that we were married I would go with him, but his thinking was we could entertain at home with me cooking some delightful concoctions.

Preston was a hard worker staying late at the office, I begged him to cut his hours because he suffered from stress and anxiety, but he never did. Our marriage lasted fourteen years, he was 65 when he died I was 35. He left me everything but I certainly didn't want the responsibility of the company so I decided to sell it. The lawyers thought they were going to have a field day, as did the people who wanted to buy it. They started to mess me around trying to convince me it wasn't worth what I knew it was worth, so I deliberately began to miss appointments and when I did attend meetings I would hem and haw, procrastination in its most extreme. Eventually they got the point and I did very well with the sale more than anyone expected.

It was the day of Brett, my son's nineteenth birthday. Early in the afternoon as with most afternoons found me sitting on the sofa enjoying some solitary quality time, as usual scantily dressed wearing a boob tube, tennis skirt and panties which just about covered my modesty. I always changed into more appropriate attire before my son arrived home from college. You can imagine my surprise when Brett walked in, home early from college, apparently the students having been sent home early due to some incident. He stood in the doorway going on about not having any lunch and getting a snack. I just sat there looking at him thinking what a good looking boy, 6 foot 2 inches, broad shouldered and one of the stars of his college swimming team. Having a financially healthy mother who doted on her son, denying him nothing was an added incentive. Girls seemed to like him, attracting them like a moth around a flame. He had quite a few, albeit short relationships, his girlfriend's lasting a month or two.

Each time a relationship broke down I would wonder if there was something about him that once the girls got to know him, didn't like. Or perhaps it was after a girl had surrendered her body that he lost all interest. Obviously I had been daydreaming, fantasizing, wondering what it would be like to be his girlfriend, curious about how he treats them, whether he has sex or not, and to what extent he is prepared to go to pleasure a girl. At night in the dark I would create scenarios where Brett would creep into my bed kiss and fondle me providing me with unbridled pleasure, only to finally pleasure myself. Sometimes I would lift a breast up to my mouth and suck my nipple, making believe it was my son forcing himself on me. Often I wondered what my reaction would be if he did creep into my bed and begin to fondle me, would I resist or would I willingly submit to his attentions.

I was suddenly shocked back to reality when I realized he was standing over me, having taken hold of my legs he was pushing me further onto the sofa so he could sit alongside me. We talked, about what I have no idea, but after several minutes put his arm around me and kissed me on the mouth. I assumed they were birthday kisses so I responded by wrapping my arms around him and kissing him back. Our kiss lingered but once broken he allowed only sufficient time for me to take a breath before his lips again assaulted mine. He prolonged the kiss, pulled me down forcing me on my back leaning over me still applying kisses.

Considering all my fantasies I was still shocked that he would do such a thing, I was speechless and never admonished him in any way. He pulled me closer, his arms wrapped around me and kissed me passionately all I could do was to respond in kind to his advances. Being in such a state of arousal my arms were tightly wrapped around him, my lips welcoming his. He slipped his hand inside my boob tube and began to squeeze my breasts and play with my nipples taking turns to flip them one way then the other, pressing them flat against my breast. He played with my breasts by pushing the nipple back into the soft flesh squeezing the flesh together to bury it. All the time our lips were locked together and for the first time he slipped his tongue into my mouth to French kiss me.

After a while he removed his hand from my breasts, to work its way it down my body before finally slipping beneath my skirt. I could feel his fingers investigating my panties pressing against the now damp crotch material searching for my sex hoping to slip his fingers inside me. Although we were kissing I tried to object about his actions, but even to me my muffled words sounded more like moans, causing him to think that I was enjoying his attention. Even my panties didn't prevent his fingers from slightly penetrating and spreading the entrance to my sex. Brett was applying sufficient pressure in all the right places preventing me from controlling my emotions, resulting in me flexing my hips attempting to push his fingers deeper into me.

He stood, held out his hand which I took knowing he was going to take me upstairs to my bedroom and lay with me on the bed. Standing behind me looking at ourselves in a full length mirror he slipped his arms around me to ease my boob tube down to my waist exposing my breast, shamefully I allowed him to squeeze and sort of juggle them so he could watch them bounce around. Resting my head on his shoulder he began to kiss my neck, at the same time loosened my skirt easing it down until it pooled around my ankles. As he pulled my boob tube down over my body, he slipped his fingers into the waist band of my panties and pushed both garments down my legs, making me to step out of them along with my skirt. As he knelt, assisting me to step out of the garments I could feel his cheek and lip pressing up against my ass, I wanted to turn around and press his head close, forcing those lips against me.

Sitting on the side of the bed and bade me move closer to him, spending time to examine me from head to foot using his hands and lips. He made me spread my legs, bend over, jump up and down, twist around, he examined me fully making sure he missed nothing. Standing naked before him he pointed to the bed, I complied and positioned myself on my own half. Standing close and facing me he began to undress, I was impatient for him and needed him to move quicker. The relief was overwhelming as he slid alongside me slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. Both my arms were around his shoulders pulling him even closer forcing him to kiss me. From our first sofa kiss until this moment not a word had been spoken. We were now kissing with some abandonment, my son was now deliberately creating a considerable amount of exquisite pain by squeezing my breast and nipples. I lost all track of time forgetting how long he used me, time no longer existed. I know that after our kissing he spent time sucking and biting my breasts, with his hands between my legs, his fingers deep inside me.

As we made out and caressed each other's body Brett spoke softly asking, "Who was the last man to touch you this way and when?" I told him it was his father about six years ago.

He asked me, "Was you as hot with my father as you are with me,"

I assured him he had no competition. He said he loved me, and that I was his apple, really fruity, fallen from the tree, sweet and juicy, ripe and ready for eating, and would be tasting my sweet juice later. Even though we were making out I wondered what he meant when he said he would be tasting my sweet juice later. Did he mean that he would be performing oral sex on me and lapping up my pussy juices? I'm quite aware of what goes on but have no experience in that form of love making, my husband would never perform such a ritual, and I had never performed anything like that myself. I must admit that I was always curious what it was like, if Brett performs it on me would he be expecting me to perform on him, would he expect to cum in my mouth? It was something that I would have to think about and make a decision quickly because it was likely to happen that very afternoon.

I wanted to know more about what happened between him and his girlfriend and asked him outright if he had sex with all his girlfriends?

"Yes I had sex with all of them and with some of their mothers."

I couldn't believe what he was telling me so I asked him again if he had sex with some of their mothers, and how he manage it.

He said, "When I visit my girlfriend's parents I could tell by the look on the mother's face whether she was interested in me, the same look you gave me today. If I thought she was interested I would respond in kind. When it was convenient and nobody could see what was happening, I would continually stare at her making it obvious I was watching her, sometimes she would blush and I knew she would be mine. There would be times when she would brush her hand against me, sometimes if I was lucky when we passed each other in a confined space, she would scrape her tits across my chest. The opportunities were few and far between but sometimes the husband, if there was one, would be away on business and the daughter out attending one of her extra-curricular activities. I would arrange to meet the daughter at home at a certain time and turn up an hour or so earlier, saying I forgot about the arrangements we made.

"One time the mother was alone in the house, and asked me to join her in the kitchen where she was working. Standing at the work top with her back towards me I went over put my arms around her and my hands on her breasts, she turned in my arms and we kissed. After kissing for a minute or so, I began to pull her skirt up to enable me slip my hand inside her panties, meanwhile she was unzipping my pants. Eventually she removed her panties, eased my cock out of my pants and guided me inside her. There we were fucking and kissing in the kitchen and I gave her everything she needed. Then there was one woman, a single parent who I was seeing on a regular basis and having sex with her and her daughter. She used to tell her daughter that she had an evening appointment, then pick me up, drive to a secluded spot where we would have sex in the back of her car. We must have been recognized because when the daughter found out she was very upset, and challenged her mother about our affair. The daughter sympathized with her mother when she said she was lonely and I was currently her only means to provide some happiness."

By this time my body was screaming out to be violated and I begged Brett to take me but he refused saying not until he had tasted my sweet juices. He snaked his way down the bed and positioned himself between my legs. I was nervous not knowing what to expect. It was pure ecstasy when his tongue slightly penetrated entrance to my sex spreading those protruding inner labia lips that I was so ashamed and self-conscious of, then to feel it move along the slit scooping up my juices.

Eventually from my continual begging for him to take me, he climbed on top adjusted his position and rammed himself hard inside me. He jammed his lips onto mine telling me to wear lipstick next time. Lifting his head looking me in the eyes he told me he was going to knock me up. He said he wanted to see my belly swollen with his child, and suck the milk from my tits. After he had finished with me and walked out of my bedroom I needed time to gather myself before having a shower, I could still smell the scent of his deodorant lingering on me. He never did get me pregnant, nature may have had something to do with that. After Brett was born I went on the pill not wanting any more children because of medical reasons, the doctor telling us it would be dangerous for me to become pregnant. Of course when Preston died I came off the pill, having decided never to sleep with another man again.

Having changed into a more appropriate attire, similar to that which I wore when greeting my son on his arrival home from college, I wandered down stairs. Brett was sitting on the sofa and looked up, his face showed signs of displeasure, I asked him if there was a problem, and he said yes, me. He stood up, walked over to me, indicating to the dress asked me what the hell was I wearing? It was obvious he was not happy when I told him it was the sort of things I wear when he comes home from college. It sounded like a suggestion, but was more of a demand when he said, if you want to wear a dress wear your white half-slip, wear it like a dress and don't wear anything under it, just you and the slip. He got angry when I said that I couldn't walk around the house like that and grabbed my arm spun me around and gave me a hard slap across my butt, and told me to go and change.

When I returned Brett was sitting in one of our big club leather armchairs with his pants draped over the back, he stared at me said I looked nice and called me over to sit on his lap. I sat sideways, my back against one padded arm and my legs draped over the other padded arm. There was just sufficient material at the top of the slip to cover my breast and at the bottom to cover my sex, not that Brett cared he could go either way knowing I wouldn't stop him from touching me. He wanted me to kiss him and as we kissed I could feel his hand roaming over the satin material caressing my breasts. He stroked me for several minutes before pulling the elasticated waist band down over my breasts to nestle beneath, then began to flick, tap and bounce my breast in his hands, watching the way they moved.

I must admit I was enjoying his attention, even more as he began to caress my legs easing the slip up to expose my sex. He called me a sexy bitch as he rubbed his fingers up and down my sensitive area, occasionally hesitating or lingering to tease my clit, I couldn't help myself, and began begging him to kiss me. Oh god, he was pushing my buttons, I was so in love with him, feeling his erection as I wriggled my butt on his lap. I don't think that I had ever been so aroused to that level before, Preston certainly never treated me like that. Preston was a gentleman, he was kind considerate and gentle, I was his wife and denied him nothing but he never took our love making to such extremes. My son was a beast, sexy and demanding, and I was prepared to accept anything he wanted.