I Sent the Wrong Attachment

We've all sent an email or a text when we didn't mean to. Tom went one better, he sent the wrong 'attachment' to his boss.

There's some 'artistic licence' in this story in as much that office communications maybe somewhat different, (i.e. shared files) but this is an erotic website!

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It was almost seven in the evening and the only lights in the office that were on were mine and Debbie's desk lights, with Ruth Morrison's lights on in her glass fronted private office.

Ruth, who was a senior partner in the law firm where I worked, had asked the two of us to stop on to complete some reports for the next day. It was a big case and we were instructing a barrister to represent our client in court.

Debbie was computing some quite complicated actuarial stuff, I was writing up reports of evidence given by private investigators. Ruth had said that as soon as we'd finished we could go.

Never let it be said that I didn't take work seriously. I'd worked hard to get to where I was since leaving uni. The interview with Ruth and another senior partner had convinced them both that I was the right twenty something to become an asset to the firm.

I'd found myself under Ruth's immediate control and she was a fair, but quite demanding boss. I'd done well so far after eighteen months with the firm, and passed my induction period with flying colours. Debbie had been taken on at the same time and was always vying with me for Ruth's approval.

Debbie finished first that evening and after transferring her digital files to Ruth, Ruth came out of her office and said, "Okay Debbie, you can be off now, and how long are you going to be Tom?"

I replied, "Nearly done, maybe fifteen minutes."

"Good...well done both of you. As soon as you're ready then Tom, send it through."

I waved goodnight to Debbie as she sarcastically said, "Don't be long 'Tommy', Ruth won't be best pleased with her toy boy!"

Her deprecating comment stemmed from her belief that I was Ruth Morrison's favourite. It came from the firm's Christmas party where Debbie had overheard me being called 'Tommy' by Ruth who'd had several glasses of wine. In Debbie's eyes she thought that she treated me differently.

Certainly Ruth must have been a real man eater when she was my age. Even now in her fifties she turned heads, I'd seen clients ogle her when her back was turned and, indeed, she always dressed in a way that showed her best assets.

I mouthed, 'Fuck off' to the laughing Debbie and set about completing my task. It was then, in my hurry, I made my mistake.

I should never have used my work account to 'store' documents from my hobby. I'd got into the habit of writing during my lunch break on the wet days when I didn't venture out. I guess a lot of people would have been surprised by it. I enjoyed writing 'erotic' stories. Indeed, I'd never disclosed that fact, not even to my closest friends. I just published them online under a 'pseudonym'.

I completed the report with a sigh of relief and took a swig from my water bottle. As I put it down it fell over, dribbling the remaining contents over a file I'd been given for next day. Mopping up the water with my handkerchief, I 'copied' the document for Ruth and sent it.

I stared at the screen in horror, realising what I'd done, I'd sent the half written story I'd been writing at lunchtime, instead of the file for the barrister. I felt sick to my core, and stupidly sent a message, 'Delete that please,' and immediately sent the correct file.

I looked up to see Ruth staring at me through the glass of her office. There was little expression on her face as she looked down at her screen then up at me again.

I saw her typing.

'I'll read it later!' The message came back, followed by another, 'You'd better get off home now'.

She looked up again and I was unsure if the half wave was accompanied by the suspicion of a smile.

I picked up my bag and shutdown my computer, leaving rapidly with a heavy heart, wondering if my mistake would count against me. What on earth must she think. All the way home on the bus I thought of the implications.

When my mobile pinged I saw the text was from Ruth. My pulse rate increased as I pressed 'open.'

'I look forward to the completion of that piece of work!' It was finished off with a smiley face winking.

Now I really didn't know what to make of it, what to say! Should I just leave it? I just texted back, 'I'll probably finish it tonight."

I wasn't expecting anything to come back, however it did, 'Email it to me!' was the reply.

I sighed more with a disbelieving relief. Did this brief exchange mean that it wouldn't affect me work wise, and was Ruth really into erotic stories?

The fact was I did have to complete it. I reheated some pasta from the night before and got down to it on my laptop.

The story I was writing was based partly on truth. In short it was about a sleepover at a friends' house during one of my uni holidays. My friend's mum was divorced and a real stunner in her forties. I'd got up in the middle of the night and gone downstairs to get a drink. She must have heard me and followed, and in the kitchen had given me a blow job.

I'd got as far as breakfast the next day with my story, and that's what had been sent to Ruth.

It took me the rest of the evening to complete it, and without really editing it I hurriedly read it through and sent it.

Bravely I added a note to the effect that I hoped she would enjoy it. For the next half an hour I wondered if that had been the right thing to say.

It was eleven thirty when I got into bed and as I lay there I began to think how similar Ruth Morrison was to my friends mum's character in the story. Divorced, still very attractive, holding a position of authority in her job, and attracted to younger men.

The last bit was wishful thinking on my part although I kept remembering Debbie's goading about me being her favourite.

I woke up next morning and in the cold light of day the previous night's events took on a different complexion.

I arrived at the office at the same time as Debbie, we got the lift together and her first words were, "How long after me did you finish?"

I told her that it was about fifteen minutes.

"Were you safe alone with her?" I looked at Debbie with disdain. She was continuing with her sarcasm.

We were alone in the lift so I answered back, "You'd love me to say I fucked her across her desk!"

"Well did you?" she giggled as the door opened. I mouthed the usual reply.

Ruth arrived some fifteen minutes after us and I was already working on one of the files that had been previously assigned to me.

"Tom, can I see you for a moment?" Ruth was speaking as she walked between mine and Debbie's desks, "Oh, and thank you Debbie for stopping on to finish that last night, it's much appreciated."

I followed Ruth through the main office towards her own. Even with a feeling of trepidation, bizarrely I couldn't help fixing my eyes on her ass beneath the tailored fabric of her grey pencil skirt. I wondered if she wore stockings and suspenders or simple hold ups, something that I'd found myself pondering often. She'd obviously pulled the blinds shut the previous night before she'd left and so when I entered we were both out of view of everyone else.

"Tom I wanted to thank you both for stopping on last night, but I think it's necessary to warn you to take a little more care with your file transfers."

I felt a bit like a schoolboy being summoned to the headmaster's office to be reprimanded. I stood there, almost to attention, while I watched Ruth deposit her briefcase beside her desk, then take off her jacket, and hang it on the hook on the coat stand in the corner.

She was wearing a cream blouse, unbuttoned enough to show a hint of cleavage between her breasts. It showed an outline of the bra that was underneath.

"Yes... I'm sorry... it was gut wrenchingly embarrassing," my voice quaked a little.

Ruth walked back between the desk and where I was standing. She lifted herself onto the desk top in a sitting position facing me, and then ostentatiously crossed her legs.

In a bizarre moment of recognition I could see the outline of the suspender that was holding up her stocking, the shape prominently displayed beneath the fabric of her skirt. She must have seen me looking either at that, or her knees just below the hemline, because she said in a raised voice, "Tom, I'm serious, if that story had gone to a client then there would have been very embarrassing consequences... I really mean that!"

I was now looking down at the floor, thankful that no one outside could see or hear this telling off.

"However," she continued, "I enjoyed it, the story I mean!"

I looked up suddenly and she was smiling.

"I think you've got a talent in that direction, have you written many, or do you write other stuff, and I've got to ask, how true was it?"

By now I was bright red, and stuttering, but relieved I was not going to get a written warning.

"Errr... I've written quite a few... ummm... I put them on a site online."

"You'll have to tell me which site," she paused and repeated, "was it true?"

"My face was burning, "Yes... mostly."

"Well... well... well young man, I will look at you in a different light now! You must send me a link to the website, but send it by text on your phone, do not use the firm's system."

Ruth chuckled quietly as she got up and pulled the cord that made the office glass clear.

"Now get back to work, otherwise everyone out there will be gossiping."

I returned to my desk and Debbie said in a voice, loud enough for half a dozen people to hear, "That was a long discussion!"

I did a V sign low down and she smiled.

The rest of the day went quickly, I got a lot done and as it was Friday we all finished an hour earlier than usual and most of the main office staff went to the pub across the road for a pint or a glass of wine.

I ended up in the group of Debbie's friends, Rachel, Dawn, Nick, and Danielle. Naturally my chat was mainly with Nick until Debbie began stirring it again. Everyone chipped in and I was the butt of the jokes about Ruth and whether she had a boyfriend. No one really knew anything about her private life except that she was divorced.

Danielle suggested that she might be gay, while Dawn thought that she probably had a different guy every week.

"I think she fancies Tom as her toy boy!' Debbie suggested.

"Yes, he was in her office for a long time this morning," Nick added.

"I blushed and gave my stock reply, "Fuck off, all of you! If she was younger I'd really fancy her."

"Ooooooooooooh!" Everyone's derision was loudly expressed.

"Watch this space," Debbie finished before she said that she'd better go, she had a 'date' that night.

Most had a comment about that before we all made our way to the buses or the car park.

'It's www.literotica.com' I texted to Ruth, adding my author name to the message.

Ruth replied twenty minutes later, 'Found it. My goodness you've written a lot. I've certainly got my bedtime reading now.'

I just replied, 'Enjoy.' I thought better of saying too much and appearing too forward. I had to remember that she was my boss.

I was due to go to a wedding in a few weeks so on the Saturday morning I needed to go into town to buy a new suit. I disliked shopping for clothes but it was necessary. However I woke up next morning a little later than normal to discover a text message on my phone from Ruth. It had been sent at just before one 'o clock the previous night.

I smiled when I read it.

'Phew! You have hidden depths.'

It meant that she'd read some, I wondered which ones exactly.

I got an even bigger surprise that afternoon as I was catching up on the football scores on tv.

This time I received an email from Ruth. I thought at first it must be work related, but realised quickly it couldn't be, because it was on my email and not a company one. It was headed 'What do you think of this?'

When I opened it up it had a document attached. Surprised, I immediately saw that it was a 'story.'

I muttered something under my breath and began to read. It started with an introduction of the characters, Caroline and Bernard. Caroline was a young twenty something fresh out of university who'd applied for a job with a large manufacturer of beauty products. The job was in marketing and Bernard was the CEO.

In very few paragraphs it became clear that in order to get the job Caroline had to succumb to Bernard's 'needs.' The descriptive language outlined how on various occasions thereafter she satisfied him in his office by way of blow jobs and being fucked across his office desk at the end of the day.

It was a good story and it gave me an erection. I wrote back believing that she'd probably 'lifted' it from the website.

'Great story, was it from 'Lit?'

My email reply was followed by a text from her.

'No, I wrote it!'

Very surprised, even a bit shocked I sent back, 'Really? Fantastic, it's very good. I didn't realise you were a writer in your spare time."

Back came, 'I'm not. I've just written it today. When I read yours I thought I'd have a go."

I wasn't sure what to say except, 'I'm astounded, it's brilliant.'

Her reply massaged my ego, 'Not as good as you... yet! We will have to become each others critic.'

I was smiling so I replied, 'That would be fun, I've got another I'm writing, you can read that this week when I've tidied it up.'

Ruth's response was to be expected. 'We must keep this between us. I don't want it getting out.'

'Of course,' I sent back.

Then came the biggest surprise.

'Do you want to 'zoom' or 'FaceTime' it seems stupid writing all these texts?'

Quickly looking around my tiny flat I could see everything everywhere, a complete disaster area.

'Sure, go ahead,' I said, turning myself around in the chair so that the background was a view out of the window.

Within seconds the 'beep' of connection came and Ruth's face appeared. It looked like she was on a sofa, dressed in some sort of sloppy sweatshirt.

My first words were, "This is a bit weird!"

Ruth chuckled and reiterated, "It might be, but I'll say it again, this is between us, I will be just as professional on Monday."

"Yes, I'll be discreet."

"And call me Ruth please, at least on here."

It was my turn to laugh, "We'll have to think of an authors' name for you if you're going to put that story on 'Lit.'

She seemed quite excited by that. "Yes! something lurid, something sexy."

"Oh my god, I'm seeing another side of you." I replied.

Ruth became serious, but just for a moment, "I think we all have another side to our character, I was quite shocked when I read that story you sent me by mistake."

"Hmmmm," I mused, "and it almost got me sacked!"

"Indeed," she replied, still with a serious face, "you should have seen your face when I was confronting you. Beetroot I think was the colour!"

"My heart was pounding out of my chest," I explained, "I was sure that it was the end for me."

Her expression changed to one of smiles.

"I was enjoying your obvious discomfort. I'm sorry I shouldn't have, but sometimes authority goes to my head!"

"I'll remember that next time I'm on the carpet."

Suddenly out of the blue she asked, "You doing anything this evening?"

I stuttered a bit wondering what was coming, "Err... no... I was just gonna watch a movie on tv."

"Come over here, we'll get a take away, and we can chat about story writing... and we can make up my name!"

I was a bit flabbergasted, but had enough wits about me to act 'cool.'

"Sure, you'll have to tell me your address, I've no idea where you live... I'll get a taxi."

The look on her face seemed pleased that I'd said 'yes.'

"Okay, I'll text you it. Shall we say about seven thirty?"

I replied that it depended on the taxi driver, but I'd be there around about that time. When the FaceTime finished I sat back and said out loud, "Fucking hell!"

I was like a dervish, ironing a shirt, taking a shower, shaving, and just trying to look good, but casual. We all wore suits or business clothes during the week, I wondered what Ruth would be in.

The taxi was on time. Ruth lived in what I called a 'posh' part of the suburbs. A detached house built in the 1930s I was guessing, a bit like my parents' house, but bigger.

I could see as soon as she opened the door that she'd made an effort the same as I had. She was wearing a flowing cotton dress, which hid her 'assets' to a degree, but was shortish and the neckline was loose enough to gape a little when she bent over.

Her perfume overwhelmed me at first when she held onto my upper arms and pushed her cheek against mine. I'd never quite understood the etiquette of that stuff, but I knew an 'air' kiss on both cheeks was a good sign.

"Come in, it's great to see you, come into the kitchen and we'll order the food."

I followed and saw that she'd already started on a bottle of Sauvignon.

"Do you want wine, or I expect you'll want a beer?"

"Wine's fine, thanks," I said, and I watched as she poured a large glassful and handed it to me.

"Cheers!" we clunked the glasses together, with her adding, "our secret, but you know that!"

Without stopping for any reply she asked, "Pizza, Chinese, Indian, your choice?"

"No you choose, but I'd be happy with just a pizza."

"Good me too."

She came around the kitchen island placing a menu in front of me. We both leaned over and again I was overtaken by her obviously expensive perfume. I was also conscious of her arm pressed up against mine.

The choice was made, the phone call made, and our glasses were topped up. She busied herself getting plates and cutlery out, telling me to go and sit in the lounge.

"I'd sooner stop here and talk to you," I said, the first glass of wine was giving me a certain amount of bravado.

She stopped and just grinned, before continuing.

"So what about a name?" The grin got broader, "Something sexy, or suggestive?"

"You have to be a bit careful because you'll be stuck with it, you can't change it. My name was about something that happened a few years ago, a long story, but it reflects something unknown."

"Oooh, intriguing, I shall have to find that out, I've ways of making you talk you know!" The last bit was said with a distinctly threatening, but sarcastic, accent.

I chuckled, "So do we make it suggestive, something blatantly sexy, or should it be more subtle?"

"How about something to do with being a lawyer, or maybe more suggestive like I always get my way."

"Do you?" I raised my eyebrows, and laughed.

"Oh yes, most certainly, in the end," and she was chuckling then.

"Okay, how about 'igetwhatiwant," I suggested.

"Hmmmm, it's a bit long, how about, 'obeyruth."

"Oh my god, really?" pulling a scared face, "am I in danger here?"

I burst out laughing, giggling, and she began laughing too.

"That's it," I said, "it conjures up a lot in the mind of the reader, but I guess it suggests your stories are about control?"

"Yes, I agree, I get that control every day of the week, but I can be quite soft too."

"There's no need to choose it now," I continued, "we can chew it over, I'll think some more," I wanted some time to consider it.

Ruth was filling the glasses from a second bottle when the doorbell rang announcing the arrival of the pizzas. We sat on stools at the island eating and drinking yet more wine, but this time talking about family and holidays and personal stuff.

By the time we'd finished we were very merry, and doing a lot of laughing. Ruth got up and staggered a bit, holding onto the island while she got her balance on her heels.

"These bloody shoes, do you mind if I take them off?"

"Why should I," I replied.