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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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The HR Director showed me to my new office
“here it is…no doubt you’ll be out and about a lot but you can use the office as a base. Decorate it as you want….”
I was the new Finance Director of a Manufacturing company – there were several factories about Ireland that I’d be visiting but in HQ I’d been given my own office to base myself from. One quiet afternoon, I looked around at the spartan walls and decided to spruce the place up. Returning from the retail Park with some plants and a couple of pictures, I set about making myself at home.
Just as I finished putting the last picture up, Vicky, a newly married Junior Accountant in her mid-20’s knocked on the door.
“Hi D-S”, she said from the doorway.
I turned around to see the 25yr old, glasses propped-up on the top of her head, long black hair cascading to her shoulder-blades, white blouse and pinstrip skirt, leaning against the door of my office.
“Hi Vicky, how can I help?”
“Fucking Brexit! Can I take you through the impact of these new bloody tariffs we’ll have to pay?”
“Madness isn’t it – sure, you better sit down and close the door”
Vicky sat to the side of my desk and opened-up her laptop. Glasses on, as she leaned forward I noticed that a crease has opened-up in her blouse, exposing her right breast. I concentrated on the work she was presenting, stealing the odd glance down to her exposed breast, her slightly ill-fitting bra just at the right angle to show me her nipple.
As the chat finished, Vicky stood up and returned to her desk, about 10metres outside my office. She sat cross legged, her shoe tangling from her toe, bare foot, ankle and shapely calf absent-mindedly coming into view.
I knew Vicky was only married a couple of months, but that didn’t stop me from day-dreaming what it would be like to play with her, perhaps in my office, closing the door and ordering her to slowly strip. “An impossible fantasy” I chastised myself outload and then, opening the spreadsheet Vicky had sent me with a big bloody number in red at the bottom, came crashing back to reality.
The days then followed a similar pattern: Vicky and I had the odd sandwhich together, were in a number of meetings, and I secretly soaked-up every moment I had admiring her youthful body, and naïve humour. She was intelligent, great looking, god at her job, dedicated and when it was needed, unafraid of putting in the hours. All the while, wearing similar clothes: business skirt, slightly heeled shoes, business blouse, fitted around her tight waist and chest.
What was also obvious was her love for her new husband. I was better off looking for a new source of fantasy as lusting over a junior employee was not going to do me any favours.
I opened-up FAB – a party this w/e in a nearby club. PM sent, invitation received. I was in.
That Saturday I arrived at the club in a black suit, white shirt. I caught-up with a couple of the regulars and started flirting with one lady who, dressed in just a white corset, looked incredible.
“Shall we play?” She asked, and led me up the stairs to one of the playrooms. After a few weeks of increasing frustration I was already excited, the familiar tingle building.
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