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Interoffice Affairs

Interoffice Affairs

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Success makes it possible to behave pretty much however you want at the office.

That’s the reason why it’s so easy for certain higher-ups to get away with seemingly scandalous interoffice affairs. If you’re earning the company serious cash, the powers that be really don’t give a shit what you do.

The distinguished male executive indulging in an illicit affair with his hot young secretary is a story we’ve all heard a thousand times. Funny that as a woman I never once considered this scenario when I was promoted to an executive position. It took a conversation with my peers to turn my attitude around.

No, I didn’t fuck a pretty young miss in my office, but I did eventually hire myself a hot male assistant who is admittedly more eye candy than a business whiz.

At first everything was purely professional. It took me years to achieve this level of success in my career, and I didn’t intend to throw it away. But that all changed after meeting my boss and a mentor for drinks. 

After a few too many Manhattans the conversation loosened up and somehow turned to my young, hot and under-qualified assistant. Though I vehemently denied that there was anything sexual between us, my colleagues continued to tease, dropping an abundance of hints about their own interoffice affairs in the process.

I heard their message loud and clear: If I wanted my assistant, I could have him. Even at the office.

The following day I threw caution to the wind and fucked my assistant right on top of the reports that littered my desk.

We fell into a nice little rhythm after that. Though I was sure never to let my work suffer, it seemed silly not to start the day with an orgasm sparked by my assistant’s ripe, pouty mouth.

The best part about having an affair with my right-hand man was how indulgent and attentive he became. Sexually speaking, that is. If he knew I had a particularly trying day ahead, he always made certain to work out my stress in the most sensual and soothing manner possible.

One particular afternoon stands out in my memory. I was dealing with a gruelling conference call filled with old geezers rehashing arguments and plans that had been put to bed several conversations ago. Rather than wait until the call ended to come ease my anxiety, Jonas gently pulled my chair away from my desk and crouched to fit in the space below.

Jonah’s fingers slipped between my thighs, sliding along the sensitive flesh until my knees dropped open of their own accord. Before pleasure completely drugged my brain, I reached out to tap the mute button, preventing my erratic breathing and whimpers from interfering with my colleagues’ discussion, which was droning on from the speakerphone in front of me.

Even my pantyhose couldn’t stand in Jonas’s way. Over weeks of fucking he’d discovered a foolproof way to split my nylons right down the center of my slit without ever having them fall from my legs. The method often left me prowling the office with my pussy exposed to the air on the days I didn’t wear panties, which was often. It became an erotic little secret that fueled my libido throughout the day.

Once his thumbs had forced through the flimsy material, Jonah zeroed in on his target. He buried his face between my thighs, his appreciative murmurs vibrating against my skin. The shouting and cajoling of the conference call faded quietly into the background, leaving only my own panting and whimpers ringing in my ears.

“Jonas’s tongue traced my slit, easing its way ever closer to my entrance.”

Jonas’s tongue traced my slit, easing its way ever closer to my entrance. I sank deeper into my seat, allowing gravity to pull me down and press my pussy flush against my boy toy’s face.

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