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The Secretary














By Mags Hayward

 Copyright ©2024

 

She stared at him, willing him to notice her. Shifting position, she edged closer, nudging his arm as he scooped up the pile of meeting minutes stacked precariously on the edge of his desk. Oops! She gasped as he stopped his load from toppling and looked up, frowning.


"Sorry." She fluttered her lashes and smiled sweetly, hoping he'd smile back.


He didn't. Hugging the folders to his chest, he pushed in his chair with a flick of his hip. "Do you want something?"  


"Yes." She cleared her throat. "I'd like your opinion."


"Oh? About what?"  


"This." Bending, she pointed to the hem of her pencil skirt. "I spilled some coffee, see?" She pinched a portion of material and pulled it upward, exposing a slither of stocking top. "Does it look bad?" She bent a little lower, angling her cleavage toward him.


"Looks fine," he muttered. "Is that all?" When she nodded, he repositioned his load and turned away.


Crestfallen, she watched him head for the door. Looks fine? That was hardly the response she'd wanted and his swift exit was downright rude. In expensive heels, figure-hugging skirt and low-cut blouse, her attire screamed 'I'm available and willing' as loudly as her actions. Why wasn’t he interested?


She twisted her fingers irritably while gazing longingly at his arse, wiggling inside tight trousers as he walked away. Oh, to grab those buttocks and squeeze… She clenched her fists and sighed. His disinterest was infuriating. He seemed oblivious to her hourglass curves, baby doll eyes, and the come-to-bed smile that usually worked so well on men. She ran a hand through her hair and shook it out. I like a challenge, she reminded herself.


The door swung to behind him. If only she could break the ice, charm him somehow. She straightened the pens scattered on his desk then trailed her fingertips across the jacket hanging on his chair. She breathed in the lingering scent on the fabric. He smelled as good as he looked.


“Damn,” she muttered. It wasn’t fair. Bosses traditionally fucked their secretaries, didn't they? They certainly did in this office. They were all at it if gossip was to be believed. The cliché, however, wasn't working for her. Typical, she thought, plucking a stray hair off the jacket's collar. An office full of horny men and she fancied the only one who wasn't.


A commotion out in the corridor caught her attention. She trotted to the door and stuck her head out. Oh, dear… Her Reluctant Romeo was there, red-faced and muttering, surrounded by scattered folders and loose sheets of paper.


"Couldn't get the door open,” he said when he spotted her looking.


She eyed him, bemused. She'd never seen him flustered. "Need help?"


Without waiting for the answer, she hurried to his aid. Her skirt rode upward as she moved and she let it. Kneeling at his feet, she began gathering the debris.


"Thank you," he said, crouching beside her. Their eyes met and he smiled. In a daze, she stacked the folders and handed them back to him, loose paper on top.


"There," she said. "Just needs a bit of sorting." She struggled to her feet. "Shall I get the door for you?"


"No need." He held her gaze making her heart flutter. "I've got it this time." Tucking the folders under his arm, he retreated backwards into the boardroom.  


Alone again, she felt a sudden and surprising surge of annoyance. Surely that was the perfect opportunity to make a pass at her, and still no action? She clenched her teeth. He wasn’t interested. Mightily peeved, she dithered outside the boardroom. He was only dropping off the minutes so would be out any second. Maybe he’d talk to her then? She waited, foot tapping. Where was he? Was he purposefully not coming out to avoid her?  


"Damn it, enough’s enough," she muttered. Drawing a breath, she hauled open the boardroom door and confronted him. "What have I done? Why don’t you like me?" She knew immediately she was being churlish and, mortified by his shocked expression, her cheeks flared hot. "Shit, I’m sorry, that was... I'm such—"


"No." He held up a hand. "It’s okay."


"Okay? I’ve embarrassed myself."


"No, you haven’t. Please…" He placed the last folder on top of an orderly pile. "You're wrong, I…" He grimaced. "I do like you. I like you a lot. I haven't said anything because it's… inappropriate. And I wasn't sure how you felt." He hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. "Do… do you?"


"Yes," she blurted. "Didn't I make that obvious?"


Wide-eyed, he shook his head.


Her hand dropped limply to her side. How much more obvious could she have been? "I thought you hated me or something."


"No. Not at all. You're… gorgeous."


"Gorgeous?"


"Yes. But it’s ina—"


"Inappropriate, yes. Well, I won't complain if you don't," she said, smirking. She watched a lopsided grin tug at his lips. "Come here," she said, beckoning.


She met him halfway and, on tiptoes, pressed her lips against his. She'd waited a long time for that kiss and it felt wonderful. But a door slam had them jumping apart. She looked around nervously.


"Lock the door," she instructed.


"Lock it?" He sucked air through his teeth. "Oh, no… in here? Now?"


She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. "Why not? Go on, lock it. You've got the only key, right?"


He nodded, then glanced at the clock on the wall.


"We’ve got time." She cupped his face in her hands. "I thought I'd never get close to you and I'm not going to shy away now. Are you?"


"I don't want to." He shot another look at the clock.


"Don't," she said, turning his face back towards her. "Live dangerously. A quickie, yes?" She kissed his neck leaving lipstick marks. "We can do a lot in," she looked at her watch, "seven minutes."  


"Seven? Is that—"


“Enough? Yes. Six now."


"Six? Shit!" He pushed her away. “We can’t.”


"Oh, come on," she goaded. She touched his crotch – rock hard. "Six minutes is plenty. So lock the door and—"


She squealed when he scooped her up and giggled as he carried her to the oval table, depositing her next to the pile of folders. He hurried to lock the door and, returning, kissed her hard on the lips. He fumbled with her skirt.


"Allow me." She took charge, hooking the material up over her hips. Staring into his eyes, she removed her satin panties.


"Oh," he whispered, "fuck, yes." Sinking to his knees, he buried his head between her thighs.

She gasped at the first lick. Wow! Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined his tongue would feel so good. His oral skills were second to none and her thighs clamped his face, stocking tops against his cheeks. Then he rubbed her clit at the same time and all her birthdays came at once.


The boss and the secretary – it does work, she thought.  


Thighs parted, she relished his rasping tongue. Tremors rippled through her body and, shuddering, she wound his hair around her fingers, messing up his short, dark locks. She moaned and, shaking her head from side to side, fought to keep her hips from bucking

"Oh, yes… right there," she cried as he slipped a finger inside.


Another spasm rocked her. She squirmed. She was close, so close…


A good thing too: she glanced at the clock, noting that time was passing perilously fast. In mere minutes, the room would be invaded by the company's executive. They'd barge in, jostling for coffee and cake before settling around the table to debate the latest sales figures – the very table on which she was sprawled, legs akimbo.


Right on cue, the door rattled. Turning her head, she saw the handle rotate. Her ears pricked up as she heard the muffled clatter of clinking china and the squeak of a wheel in need of oil. Someone knocked. Crap! The caterers


Her heart missed a beat, yet she tingled with excitement at her depravity: fucking in the boardroom with a meeting imminent and caterers at the door. How delightfully wicked.

Throwing back her head, she cried, "Give me more!"


His head popped up, a look of wonderment on his face.


"Finish me off, please," she begged. "Bend me over the table and fuck me, I'm yours."


Masterful and quick, he spun her around. Palms flat on the table, she heard the jangle of his belt buckle and, looking over her shoulder, watched his boxer shorts fall revealing what could only be described as the cock of her dreams. Thick and long, it pointed straight upward, ready for action. Breathless, she braced against the table.


He entered her with one smooth thrust. Grasping her tightly, he thrust again. And again. Fucking against the clock, he rammed her with wild abandon, fingers digging into her thighs.

Good. Very good. She wanted it. Loved it. The rough fuck was bliss.  


The caterers knocked again.


"Keep going," she urged, panting. "They can wait."


She gasped as she slammed against the table, his rhythmic thrusts shaking the meeting minutes, sending them toppling again. She didn't care. Sexual pleasure swamped her senses and silenced the alarm bells ringing madly inside her brain - by now, the 'suits' must be closing their laptops and straightening their ties. Sticklers for punctuality, they always came on time.  


Thankfully, so did he. He stiffened, groaned, and as she pushed back against him, he shot his load. His grunts and the heady scent of sex triggered a reaction in her core. Crying out, she came a second after he did, her pussy contracting around his cock. Satisfied, she rode the waves… release at last.


With her desperate need gratified, she stole a glance at the clock. Shit! Panicked, she shoved him away. His cock slipped from her, trailing juices.


"Sorry," she muttered, pointing at the clock.


"Oh, hell!" He dressed, pulled tissues from his trouser pocket and wiped his wilting penis before buckling up. He handed her a tissue which she took without a word.


There was another knock from outside and a voice called out.


"Just a moment," she yelled. Meeting his startled look, she shrugged. "I think they know we're in here."


A mischievous grin lit up his face. Beaming back, she slipped her panties on and smoothed her outfit until she looked presentable. Then she wiped the table with her sleeve while he straightened the chairs and opened a window to ventilate the room.


"Okay?" she asked.


"One moment." He patted the files into a tidy pile and slipped the used tissues back into his pocket. "Okay."


She straightened her shoulders. Her smile faded. Striding to the head of the table she pulled out a chair and sat. She rubbed her neck, moistened her lips, then clasped her hands on the tabletop. Nodding, she watched him unlock the door.


The caterers trundled in and she glared as one dared cast a quizzical look her way. To her delight, he quickly bowed his head and joined the others, setting out plates of pastries for the hungry hordes. The executives entered next, prompt as ever. As they did, her partner in crime busied himself placing copies of the minutes in front of each chair around the table. He worked methodically. Then, with a sly wink thrown her way, he left.


She sighed contentedly. It was great having a sexy secretary and a fuck in the boardroom was just the start. Imagine what could happen on her next business trip. She shuffled in her seat, aware of a squelch in her panties. She fought to hide her smirk and, failing, held a hand to her mouth, pretending to cough. Then another thought tickled her – the promotion. She was about to get a new office on the top floor and two secretaries of her choice. Imagine that! What more could a girl want? 



About Mags Hayward:

Mags Hayward lives in Somerset with her family. She writes short contemporary romances and spicy romances while daydreaming about writing a novel. She might one day.

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