Happy Anniversary

Being his secretary, means I get to know my boss in ways that few other people do. Iā€™m the woman who organises his life, who knows his whereabouts, his ins and outs, schedules his meetings, celebrates with him when he strikes a deal, consoles him with a tender hand on the shoulder when he misses out, the woman he confides in about his wife, his family, his hopes and aspirations.

Iā€™m also the woman he fucks.

ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”

ā€œAre we ok Catherine?ā€ he asks, as he starts clearing his desk of the papers at the end of his day.

ā€œYesā€ I lie.

ā€œOnly youā€™ve been giving me the cold shoulder treatment all afternoonā€¦ā€

I donā€™t answer, merely shrug.

ā€œJesus, Catherine. You know I canā€™t get out of this. Iā€™m married to her. Celebrating your anniversary is what married couples doā€¦ā€

Whilst Iā€™m fully aware of that, Iā€™ve surprised myself this afternoon, by how taken Iā€™ve been by the green eyed monster, Iā€™d never admit it to John, but I surprised myself today even, when I felt a twinge of jealousy, as I heard him making arrangements to take his wife out for a meal that evening at the swankiest restaurant in town, and the realisation that if ever there was a night when the frigid cow would open her legs for him, itā€™d be tonight.

ā€œItā€™s the thought of you, with her, thatā€™s getting meā€¦ā€ I say, as I walk over to his desk, and move behind the back of his big leather chair. Putting my hands on his shoulders, I move them either side of his head and down his shirt, caressing his chest, before moving down towards his midriff. As I do, I nuzzle into his head, and gently nibble at his ear lobe.

ā€œBut Iā€™m gonna be late, Catherine. You know I canā€™t be late ā€“ not tonight.ā€ He protests.

ā€œAre you turning me down, John?ā€

ā€œNo, Iā€™m not turning you down Catherine. You know Iā€™d never do that, but itā€™s my Wedding Anniversary and Iā€™ve a meal booked for 7ā€¦Canā€™t we just postpone this until tomorrowā€¦ā€ he suggests, as he makes to shrug my hands off of his shoulders and swivels his chair away from me...

ā€œDonā€™t turn your back on me, John. You know thatā€™s not a wise thing to doā€¦ā€

ā€œFucking hell, Catherine! You're such a bitch!ā€ he says, but a smile comes over his face and I move round and fall to my knees between his legs.

ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”ā€”

And now Iā€™m looking up at him, and his eyes are closed, but thereā€™s a smile on his face, as his hands run through my spikes blonde hair and I know heā€™s in my complete control. Heā€™s mine.

With just the addition of the delicate touch of my hand on his balls, I could have him cumming in my mouth in an instant, but thatā€™s not what I want, not today.

It was me that instigated our initial affair, when I offer to suck his cock the first night we spent away together at an overnight conference in Bath, and heā€™s been at my beck and call ever since. And it was me who planned todayā€™s little love scene in the office all along, in part by giving him the cold shoulder most of the afternoon, but also by removing my bra at lunchtime, so he had the afternoon to stare at my little pink nipples through my crisp white blouse.

Iā€™d never admit it to John, but I surprised myself today even, when I felt a twinge of jealousy, as I heard him making arrangements to take his wife out for a meal that evening at the swankiest restaurant in town, and the realisation that if ever there was a night when the frigid cow would open her legs for him, itā€™d be tonight.

So I thought Iā€™d help make their 18th Anniversary, or whichever meaningless year it is, a little more memorableā€¦

And so here we are now. Me bent over and legs apart, leaning on his desk, as John takes me roughly from behind. And as he does, all the while Iā€™m looking at the photo of his frigid cow of a wife, Patricia, smiling back at me on the desk.

Sorry, love, you wouldnā€™t be smiling if you could see us now. If you knew what I do to your husband routinely and whenever I get the urgeā€¦What your ā€˜devotedā€™ husband does to me, whenever I click my fingers or show him a glimpse of my thighā€¦

And I know sheā€™s jealous of me. I could tell the first time I spoke to her, on one of her many calls to Johnā€™s office for any number of trivial matters. She certainly didnā€™t like it the first time I asked her did she mind telling me what the callā€™s about, as Johnā€™s very busy right nowā€¦Stuck up cow!

I try to keep my eyes averted from the other photo on the desk, the one where theyā€™re playing happy families, with his son and daughter in tow. Iā€™ve met both his kids on separate occasions, and have to admit, I do feel a twinge of guilt for them. However, only a tingeā€¦

Instead though I focus on the matter in hand, or rather the fat cock in my little French cunt. I want to feel his thick cock pounding me, want to feel his hands all over my body, wanting me, needing me, needing me more than he ever needed his wife.

And Iā€™m encouraging him, Iā€™m telling him to take me, to fuck me, to fuck me harder, treat me like your whore, fuck me like youā€™d never fuck your wife, John.

And he needs little encouragement. Heā€™s pounding me now, making the thick old mahogany desk creak, making the photo of his cow wobble, though I donā€™t want it to fall, I want her to ā€˜witnessā€™ our own tender little anniversary scene.

And Iā€™ve fucked him often enough now to know when weā€™re in the home straight. His breathing gets all short and urgent and sometimes, like now, he canā€™t help but utter little words and sentiments to me ā€“ and not always nice, either!

And so, heā€™s telling me Iā€™m ā€˜his little French whoreā€™, and that Iā€™m a ā€˜dirty bitchā€™ and that Iā€™m ā€˜cock madā€™ ā€“ and itā€™s probably all true! And I like him to feel that heā€™s using me, that Iā€™m his plaything, when in reality, all along, itā€™s always been the other way round. Heā€™s the one at my beck and call, and while ever I want it, itā€™ll always be that wayā€¦

And as he climaxes and groans, I feel the weight of his body collapse against me, forcing me face down on the the desk. As he halts his rhythmic thrusts and begins to cum, my left hand instinctively grabs his, and I make a point of fingering his wedding ring, smiling one last time at his poor sap of a wife in the frame, no doubt getting ready for their anniversary meal as her husband gasps in my left ear and his cock empties his love juices inside meā€¦

Heā€™s yours, but in name onlyā€¦I grin to myself, as the cheating bastard lays on top of me. Whilst sheā€™s making herself presentable and deliberating over which frumpy dress to wear for their special anniversary meal, her husband - cock still rigid in my snatch - is kissing and nuzzling my ear lobe, telling me Iā€™m beautiful, telling me Iā€™m his special one, telling me he loves me, telling me what he knows I want to hear in this momentā€¦

As we clean ourselves up and make ourselves look respectable again, I go to kiss John lightly on the lips.

ā€œHappy anniversaryā€, I say, knowing his wife wonā€™t be able to eclipse that, whatever she does for him tonight
Published by markphilip
7 months ago
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markphilip Publisher 7 months ago
to AireyPorter : Haha! Thank you, AP!šŸ‘ Wasnā€™t sure if anyone was still out thereā€¦ This particular scenario is (probably!?) fictional, but the affair between my father and his secretary, Catherine, was very real.
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AireyPorter 7 months ago
Great having you back with a nice fantasy tale.....or is it ?
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