I parked my car and took the folder of papers from the passenger seat beside me, walked up to the front door of the well-kept detached house and rang the bell, hearing its chimes echo distantly inside.
I saw the shape of a woman approaching. However, when the door swung open I was surprised to find that this was not my boss, but a complete stranger.
‘Oh!’ I gasped. ‘Umm ... er, hi! Is Ms Betty at home? Only, she left these at the office, and I thought she said that she’d need them for her meeting tomorrow ... so ... well, I thought ... umm ... yes, well, maybe I should bring them ...’, I paused, and then ended rather lamely: ‘I’m Natsha, her PA.’
The woman looked at me with no change of expression for a moment, and I began to think that my bright idea – show initiative, I’d told myself, impress the boss – perhaps had not been so smart after all. The woman in front of me was quite striking – she seemed to be of similar age to my boss, but she was a bit taller than Ms Betty, and her hair was darker and cut in a shorter style.
She was wearing no shoes, and her legs were encased in smart black tights or stockings; it looked as if she had simply shed her business suit and flung on a flimsy wrap.
This was in an elegant blue and silver pattern, and was only loosely tied at her waist; as it gaped open at the top, I could see the upper part of a lime green full-cup bra and the deep cleavage of the shapely breasts that it enclosed.
The woman was holding a glass in one hand which was half-filled with white wine, but when she saw my glance flick towards it she took a large gulp and then set it down with a bump on a small table nearby.
‘You’re too late, the bitch left to catch her flight half an hour ago’, she snapped curtly, and then muttered darkly, more to herself than to me! So why didn’t she want me to come along for the weekend, huh?’
Then the woman looked me slowly up and down in a considering way, and I felt even more unsure of my ground.
‘So, you’re the new PA, are you? And quite a peach, too ... she hasn’t said much about that, oh no!’ the woman observed, before adding brutally: ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to get your panties down, a pretty little sweetie like you’.
I was shocked at her boldness and tried to keep my expression blank, but I am young and naive, and something in my look must have given me away. The woman glared furiously at me and her mouth narrowed in an angry line.
‘The bloody bitch – she HAS!’ the woman snapped, ‘and you dropped them, you little slut, didn’t you! How many times? How many times have you got up on her desk and spread your legs, you little hussy?’
I blushed – which I know makes a pretty picture – partly from embarrassment, and partly from the vivid flashback of arousing memories. It hadn’t really been that many times – after all, I’d only been working for Ms Betty for five weeks, and nearly three of those had passed before she was sure enough of my lesbian orientation to make her move.
Mind you, since then I had happily knelt in front of her leather executive desk chair and paid oral worship to her mature pussy at least once each working day, and sometimes more often if there was a gap between her appointments or meetings.
In return, she would strap on the large dildo that she kept hidden in a locked filing-cabinet, and fuck me doggy-style hard and long – though she insisted that I wear a ball gag, after I made rather too much noise in my moments of climax on the first occasion that she took me.
However, we had never done it on her desk – the preferred position was for me to be on my hands and knees on the carpet in front of it, my skirt and panties discarded, my thighs apart and my ass jutting up in the air, and she would take a steely grip above my hips and grind the long and wickedly-ridged plastic phallus deep into my vagina, and then she would reach underneath me to yank my breasts out of their bra cups and pull and squeeze my stiff nipples.
As these heady memories transfixed me for a moment, giving me a sudden hot damp flush in my pussy, the woman came to a decision and acted upon it.
‘So ... sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander! You’d better bring that in’, she said, and then seized the folder that I was holding and jerked it towards her. I was taken by surprise and stumbled inwards over the threshold, relinquishing the folder in order to try and keep my balance.
I heard the front door slam shut behind me, and from the corner of my eye saw the woman contemptuously hurl the folder down in the corner of the hallway.