Finance Director in Trouble

Note to readers: Please don't forget that all my writing is just fantasy. I am always happy to receive your feedback. Thank you.

***

Jayne was now single by choice, a confident, and assured executive of a modern consultancy firm, where she had held the coveted position of finance director for the last five years. A combination of hard work and good luck meant that she was now reaping the rewards of a six figure salary, Mercedes car and a very up market wardrobe. What Jayne most enjoyed was the level of control over her life that she now possessed. A high flying decision maker in her career, she had, on occasion, exhibited a ruthless streak when shown any opposition by colleagues. Inevitability some thought of her as an arrogant bitch, but Jayne just dismissed this as jealousy, never doubting herself or her own judgment. She also now enjoyed complete autonomy in her personal life. Jayne was a very well preserved 59 year-old lady with pretty face, creamy complexion and shoulder length coppery hair.

She wore designer spectacles, which emphasised her big blue eyes and long lashes. She enjoyed using them as a prop, to peer over questioningly, point out directions and occasionally, place the arm between her lips, either coyly or suggestively, depending on interpretation. Divorced for several years, she had, to her surprise, very recently begun to enjoy her relatively new found status as an attractive, mature woman. Allan, her ex-husband, had left her for his nymph like secretary and shortly after, her son, who she doted on, married and moved away to Australia. Jayne was, suddenly, all alone. This was probably why she had achieved so much, career wise, relatively late in life. Work became her life, a combination of single-mindedness and determination to beat the clock.

Yet, initially, Jayne's work life rose in inverse proportion to her personal life, which seemed to stagnate after the loss of her family. She had a few good friends, but they were middle-aged, married couples and she really didn't seem to fit in there anymore. Jayne had begun to feel old before her time, bored and boring, usually smart and attractive she had started to dress in a more frumpy way, trouser suits were a constant, in combination with her hair being tied back in a severe pony tail, and minimal makeup. Yet inside of Jayne a spark remained, occasional urges and fleeting fantasies would haunt her day and night dreams. However, they would only to be acknowledged in her most private moments, in her cloistered bedroom when she allowed her fingers to release her sexual tensions. Her religious, morally strict upbringing had always made her feel guilty about sexual pleasure. She considered masturbation as 'dirty' and shameful and never to be discussed, with anyone under any circumstances.

This situation would no doubt have carried on indefinitely, if it hadn't have been for the arrival of a new CEO at the consultancy company, six months ago. He was ten years younger than Jayne, tall, smart and good looking. He also had a way of looking at her as he spoke to her, holding her gaze with those smiley, brown eyes which made her feel things she thought were forgotten. The problem was, David Sinclair was married. She, despite her best efforts not to, became very attracted to him and secretly, wanted him to feel the same way about her, so she set about changing her appearance to make him notice her. At first she passed it off as a silly game she was playing, not really serious. A bit of fun.

Initially, she had her hair, which had become dull and streaked with grey, professionally cut and restored back to the rich copper tones which complimented her creamy skin so well. Make up. nails, eyebrows, everything, gradually had a top class makeover, she could certainly afford it and, although she had never bothered before, now enjoyed it and there was a powerful incentive, in the form of the dashing new CEO. Everyone commented on how wonderful she looked, Jayne even hired a personal trainer to tone up her already shapely body. She felt great, more alive than she had done in years and male attention began to blossom from all around. Offers of dinner dates and after work drinks began to snowball, but Jayne was very picky about who she favoured.

Jayne's real target was David Sinclair, but other men whom she considered on, or above, her level were smiled upon, those she considered below her social standing were coldly brushed aside. Which inevitability caused ill feeling about her blatant snobbery. Certain junior male colleagues began to make derisory, often lewd, remarks, under their breath which she never quite heard properly. Generally, juvenile, whispering, sniggering and rude gesticulations when no one else was looking, after she had walked by, in a cloud of perfume and swishing nylons. Eventually Jayne irritably, pulled rank and had two of the main young culprits, Brett Harris and his eqally obnoxious buddy, John Wood, hauled before HR and embarrassingly put on report. It gave her no little satisfaction to note that all harassment ceased immediately, beyond the odd sullen, resentful stare, which she smugly ignored. Jayne had more important people to think about.

David became far more attentive, spending more time with her than was strictly necessary for their working relationship and their conversation became, by degrees, more flirty. However the real clincher was when she began to upgrade her wardrobe. Jayne was almost 60, she knew that mini skirts and low tops were out of the question for her age and status, so she made a conscious effort take professional chic to its sexy limit, whilst still remaining refined, elegant and ladylike. Trouser suits were thrown out, expensive skirt suits became the norm. In various colours and materials, but always with the tightest possible pencil skirt, knee length or two or three inches higher, depending on how mischievous she felt. Jayne liked to team these suits with either a fine silk or satin blouse. She noticed that men seemed to constantly look for an excuse to touch her when she wore a silky or satin blouse, a reassuring hand lingering on her shoulder or a guiding, affectionate hand in the lower part of her back.

Jayne knew that these seemingly random touches were sexual. She would admit, but only to herself, that the sensual pressure of of these masculine, illicit touches, through silk, gave her a real thrill. However, men who the haughty finance director considered beneath her social station, were never allowed into her rarified personal space. Her collection of luxury, ultra high heeled shoes became second only to her collection of luxury lingerie. Jayne loved her newly recognised ability to excite younger men, she had become, as one of the resentful, junior, male colleague's had observed, "a real prck-teaser". A phrase that would have shocked the outwardly conservative lady, to her prim and proper core, had it been uttered within her hearing.

The affair with the now smitten CEO was inevitable and, hypocritically, she happily forgot her pompous morality. They were very discrete, dinner in swanky restaurants and the odd 'business trip', but as with most affairs of this kind, it became an open secret for their work colleagues.

Jayne was meeting David tonight, for dinner, strictly business officially, an informal get together organized by a new PR companionship. It was not uncommon and one of the many perks of their status. However Jayne knew David was going to make love to her afterwards. She was already looking forward to the pleasure. God! She thought, It seemed so long since they had made love, her tummy fluttered and she felt colour flush into her cheeks. She had dressed entirely with only one thought in mind, to make David want her. She knew that this was wrong because he was a married man. Her strict moral upbringing absolutely forbade such wanton behaviour. Jayne heard her mother's disappointed, hectoring voice in her mind. However, her body had it's own needs and she knew that her resolve was weak because she wanted it to be. No one would ever find out, she reasoned. David would never jeopardize his marriage, so her reputation would remain above reproach. Jayne had convinced herself over the period of their short affair, that no one needed to be hurt, so there was no need to feel guilty.

That morning she arranged to go into work late, because she was required to attend the PR function that evening. She bathed and dressed with care. A new bra and brief set, dark chocolate brown silk, decorated with soft cream lace. It fitted perfectly, but silk cups only came to half cup size, as she looked in the mirror she could see the tops of her large nipples peeping through the fine gauzy lace at the top. It showed her ample breasts off beautifully. Although normally Jayne preferred larger, either higher waist panties, or French knickers, this set had a small, matching, silk and lace thong, which she thought David would find more provocative. Jayne had started to trim her still, fiery red, pubic hair to accommodate the smaller garment, but on an impulse suddenly shaved her pussy completely for the first time in her life at the age of 59. She felt sure David would appreciate her attention to detail. She had experienced a slight shiver, as she pulled on the thong and the shimmering silk encased her newly bald quim for the first time. It felt deliciously sensual as moved around. Her satin and lace, ivory, deep-waisted suspender belt, gave her confidence. As well as looking classy and highly erotic, with its eight narrow straps, it firmed and concealed the slight soft swell of her middle-aged tummy. Jayne smiled distractedly whilst carefully attaching her fully fashioned nylons, adjusting the seams with expert fingers. Stepping into an expensive ivory, satin slip, once again purchased especially for this occasion, she moved in front of her full length mirror to admire the effect.

"Not bad old girl." She mumured, smiling at the elegant mature reflection smiling back at her. Jayne loved the way the glossy slip moulded and rippled softly around her womanly curves, the rich lace detail at the bust and hem accentuated her femininity. Slipping her arms into the silky, cream blouse, she deliberately buttoned it up to a respectable level because of her initial work obligations, but of course the higher ones would casually become unbuttoned later on. Finally, her skirt suit was a fine linen one, pale lilac in colour. The jacket was impeccably tailored and the skirt was very tight around her well upholstered derrière and finished demurely at her knee. However there was a generous split at the rear which, when walking, opened wide enough to reveal a hint of lacy slip and tantalizing glimpse of sleek, nylon, stockinged thigh. The 5" nude, patent high heels and a double row, pearl necklace and dropper earrings completed the look. Jayne smirked at her reflection, knowing that men would turn to look at her, want her and fantasise about what they would like to do if only ... But they would never get the chance. Picking up her matching, designer handbag she left the house.

The afternoon had gone slowly for Jayne, disappointingly David wasn't there, she wouldn't see him until the evening. The two obnoxious office juniors were both in and out of the areas where she was working, much to her displeasure. Jayne pointedly ignored them, maintaining an air of cool authority in their presence. At one stage one of them had approached her to hand over a document and as he had tried to speak to her, she had cut him off abruptly with an icy stare, turning on her high heels and swishing away imperiously. Brett Harris was left standing in his superior's wake, angry and embarrassed. He stared at her retreating figure, that tight skirted rump swaying above seamed stockings and high heels. His face flushed as he felt the pent up resentment over his previous disciplinary procedure, mixed with his latent sexual obsession, and now this deliberate snub.

He stalked back to the small office he shared with his best friend and confident, John Wood, who had also been reprimanded in the previous incident. They had both been made aware, indirectly, that she had initiated the complaint. Slamming the door behind him, he erupted,

"That fucking stuck-up, prick-teasing ... cunt!" His voice trembled with rage.

John was surprised by Brett's emotional outburst, but immediately knew who he was talking about.

"She's gonna get what's coming to her... I'm going fuck her up so bad..."

As Brett said these words his mind's eye flashed up a picture of the distressed financial director, half naked, struggling beneath him, begging for mercy, with his rampant cock buried deep inside her. He felt his cock twitch inside his pants and pushed the image away.

John sensed a change in Brett's demeanor, something different, something big.

"If you mean what I think you mean, I'm in! John was animated. "I mean it Brett... let's do her! How many times have we talked about it. Let's do what we said, let's teach that tight-arsed, bitch a lesson...!"

John's voice eager, urgent, tipping the angry, unstable Brett over the edge.

"Fuckin' right! Have you seen what that smug, arrogant bitch is wearing? Swanning around in seamed stockings and 'fuck-me' heels, like she thinks she's untouchable." Brett looked into his eager ally's grinning face. "Well I'm going to fucking touch her... I'm gonna make her so fucking sorry she ever crossed me... and I know just how to do it!"

Jayne left her final meeting, with thoughts only of the evening to come, truthfully, she had been unable to think of anything else. The silky caress of the fine clothing on her skin, the small bumps made by the suspenders on her tight skirt as she sat, the heat of her smooth pussy against the filmy material of her g-string, all stirred erotic thoughts and emotions. As she dropped off the account copies on her desk before leaving, Jayne noticed the envelope containing a hastily scribbled note.

'Jayne.

I am so sorry, but I won't be able to make the function tonight. But I need to see you urgently, in private. Please come down to the back stock room as soon as your meeting finishes. Jayne don't tell anyone, I'll be waiting for you.

Love

David.'

The writing was untidy, as if written hurriedly, or excitedly, as if in emotional turmoil, not like David at all. Jayne folded the note carefully and slipped it into her bag, then looked around furtively. Almost everyone had left and the ones who hadn't were gathering their things and shouting their goodbyes. Her heart was pounding and her breathing quite rapid. David "wanted" her... "urgently".

"Oh my lord!", she murmured, closing her eyes clutching her pearl necklace unconsciously to her pale throat. She felt a hot, stirring sensation inside her smooth pussy, which was deliciously naughty. Trying to control her racing pulse rate, she dawdled deliberately until the final member of her staff left. Walking quickly to the back stairs, she began to clip clop her way down. The lift would have been easier, but more likely to be observed. A member of the cleaning staff was the only person she passed. Jayne couldn't quite believe that this was happening, she had never done anything like this before. She understood from the emotional tone of the note that David, impetuously, was not prepared to wait until this evening cosumate his passion. Then neither was she, life was to short to remain prim and proper. David was right, seize the moment. The illicit rendezvous, appealed to her romantic nature and the spontaneity of his desire, coincided with her own longings. As she made her way to the rendezvous Jayne thought of the irony of spending so much time dressing for an up market dinner, and yet here she was hurrying towards a furtive, and possibly risky encounter, in a dingy storeroom. Her steps quickened, her heart raced and her cheeks flushed as she approached the doorway, with a last glance behind to check she hadn't been seen, she quietly entered the stock room and closed the door behind her.

The room was dark and gloomy in the lowering light, she had been here once or twice before, but not for some time. Rows of shelving and a desk and chairs at the end. She risked a loud whisper.

"David... where are y...mmmmpphh!"

As Jayne turned to reach for the light switch, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth and her arms were grabbed and pinned from both sides. She tried, instinctively, to scream, but her cries were muffled, she could tell that there was more than one assailant, but that was all. Fear and panic gripped her, her struggles were useless against their combined strength. She felt herself being propelled forward, into the darkness of the room and away from the safety and light of the corridor. Struggling for balance on her very high heels, she tottered quickly, swept along with them, her restrictively tight skirt making her nylons hiss together in the dark . The attack was so swift and unexpected she was completely helpless One of her attackers growled into her ear,

"Don't make a fucking sound cunt! You scream and you're fucking dead... understand!"

Jayne was terrified by the harsh language and threatening tone. Prevented from answering by the gagging hand, she tried to nod to acknowledge that she understood the demand.

"That's right, you just do as you're told and everything will be OK. Because if you don't, I will make you so fucking sorry... Understand? You do everything we tell you to do and you'll get through this... Do you understand?"

The voice was harsh with adrenaline and anger, as was his heavy breathing. Jayne was shocked, terrified, her mind clung on to the words "...just do as you're told and everything will be OK...", like a drowning swimmer. She nodded again in wide eyed acquiescence as the entangled group shuffled towards the dim outline of the table and chairs. They came to a halt and Jayne was bundled and pushed into the office chair, she sat gratefully, trembling legs folding unsteadily beneath her. Was this a robbery? Where was David?

"Please... I won't cause any trouble... What do you want? ... Please don't...!" Her refiher voice was edged with panic.

One of the dimly lit figures loomed closely in front of her, Jayne sensed a vaguely familiar scent of cheap after shave. Then she gasped as a hand closed around her throat, pressure forcing her back into the padded chair back.

"Oh, you won't cause any trouble darlin', you stuck up, prick teasing tart!" Brett spat.

John laughed, it was high pitched, excited. They had both plotted and fantasized over and over about doing this, but John couldn't really believe it was happening. He moved in behind the chair and inhaling a deep breath of expensive perfume, he pushed a hand insolently inside the suit jacket of his boss and grabbed a handful her left breast, mauling it through the silk blouse. After all the shit this bitch had given them, this felt so good, so fucking good!

" What!... No! God no, stop! ... How dare you! Help me...!" Jayne's Usually well modulated, middle class voice was shrill with indignation.

Outrage at being indecently groped, briefly overcoming her fear, Jayne struggled to rise. Like a punch to the stomach, she suddenly realised that her attackers were sexually motivated. God no! This couldn't happen to her, not here... not now!

The hand tightened swiftly around her throat, spitefully choking off her moral indignation and pressing her back down into the chair.

"Shut the fuck up! ... Shut your mouth... you stupid, bimbo, cunt!" Brett loved being able to talk to his oh-so-superior boss, in this way. He wanted to degrade her in every way possible.

Jayne shrank into the chair in the face of such nasty aggression. No one had ever spoken to her in such a brutal manner in her whole life. Her protests shrank into a pitiful whimper and then shocked silence.