My Bookkeeper Returns

Copyright © 2010 by licapeba. All rights reserved.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a sequel to "My Bookkeeper" (I devote considerable time and care to selecting my story titles!) and the experience of reading it may be enhanced by reading the other one first.

*

Michelle, our part-time bookkeeper, was due to return to work on our accounting system. I was feeling jittery.

The day before, she and I had a sudden and surprising romantic encounter in my office. After she had left, and overnight, I had become concerned about the after-effects of that impulsive event. She was a good bookkeeper. I didn't want to lose her through her own re-evaluation of what had happened. Nor did I want a change in her behavior to make working together difficult. Through morning ablutions and early emails I thought about how to discuss this with her, and was still unsettled as she arrived.

My worrying was wasted, though. Maybe it helped both of us past some awkwardness that one of our consultants was working in the offices when she arrived that morning, but Michelle was completely professional when she arrived, and throughout the day. There was no sign of resentment about what had happened the day before. There was also no fluttering of eyes, no mooning looks, no whispered intimacies... no obvious invitation of any kind to suggest that she thought we would repeat what we had done the day before.

She was more happy than I could remember seeing her, chatting very cheerfully with our consultant and me and laughing easily. In the afternoon after the consultant had left, she was perhaps a bit more friendly and casual than before, but completely professional as she finished our financial reports and walked through them with me. After we were done, she gave me a quick hug, wished me a good weekend, said she'd see me in a few months for our mid-year bookkeeping needs, and left.

A real pro. A grown-up. I thought of some of the other younger women who had complicated my life after intimacy. They had been far less appreciative of what I did for them in bed, and far more demanding of me afterwards, as though they thought that our intimacy gave them a claim of some kind. Even though I hadn't taken anything from Michelle in our encounter, I thought she was pretty great for not trying to make more of it.

In the months that followed, we exchanged emails a few times. Usually I'd start an exchange by asking a question about our accounting, but would slip in something friendly or fun too. She would reply in kind, again showing cleverness and a sense of humor that I had not noticed in years of knowing her. She also avoided turning these exchanges into anything suggestive or cloying. If I was at all uncomfortable with myself, I might have interpreted her lack of communication about what we had done as a lack of interest in a repeat performance. But I didn't, for some reason, and my respect for Michelle grew.

Months later, when she was due back for her usual mid-year updating and tidying of our books, I was out of the country. She came to our offices and did her work for several days, and I returned in the afternoon of the Friday she was finishing up. She told me she had a long list of things to talk to me about, but that didn't worry me.

Michelle had never gotten used to seeing how much money we spent running the business. Her other clients were presumably less successful or more frugal, but I and our handful of consultants burned through tens of thousands of dollars per month travelling, entertaining, training, and preparing and making presentations to groups of executives and senior managers at our clients. We were also forever buying newer and better devices and services to support our activities and make our work easier. Especially in that group, she didn't always understand what our expense receipts were for, and didn't always understand whether they were business or personal expenses.

"Looks like I'm in trouble again," I said with a smile as she came into my office with a thick file folder.

"No," she laughed, "but your expenses must have helped a lot in ending the recession. I need help figuring out what some of these things are for."

She settled into a chair on the other side of the desk and arranged her papers in front of us. We worked through a few dozen expense items quickly, clarifying what they were and what accounts they should be charged to.

"Now this one," she said, "is this what it looks like, almost nine thousand dollars for an espresso machine?! Is that a gift for a client? Who likes coffee that much?!"

"I do, Michelle. So do you. You didn't see it in the kitchen?"

"No! I've been bringing my own Starbucks, I didn't go in the kitchen."

"Ohhh, Michelle," I said, "I can teach you so much. Come with me."

Her eyes softened as she smiled, seeming to remember the last time I said that to her, and she pushed out of her chair to follow me into the kitchen. It was hard to miss the huge new commercial espresso machine there.

"We bit the bullet. I finally concluded that making coffee as good as the best coffee shops is easier using the same equipment they use. I'm going to make you a coffee and you'll stop questioning why I bought it. You'll also never - ever - want to drink a Starbucks coffee again. Do you want to try it?"

She giggled. "I'll try a nine thousand dollar coffee machine any day, but I do love my Starbucks!"

While I busied myself with the exacting ritual of making two perfect double lattes, we chatted about my recent trip, her vacation, family... stuff. I carried the two drinks back into my office, where we resumed our positions across the desk from each other, and I slid her coffee across to her.

I watched her face carefully as she tasted it. She was first apparently startled. People are often surprised that coffee drinks can taste just as good as freshly-ground coffee smells. Then she looked contemplative as she tasted chocolate, and caramel, and a bit of fruit, flavors usually overwhelmed in typically-bad or badly-made coffee. She looked up at me as she sipped, eyes wide. It was at least thirty seconds before she slowly put down her cup in wonder.

"Ohhh Peter!" she said softly, "that is absolutely incredible. I think I've just really had coffee for the first time." She paused. "You do teach me wonderful things." Her eyes sparkled, and we looked at each other for a long moment. I was about to speak when she looked down and said, "OK, how do we handle this wonderful purchase? It's a personal expense, isn't it?"

"I don't think so Michelle. People buy coffee machines for their offices all the time. Some companies spend even more for those all-automatic things that spit out bad cappucinos and coffees at the push of a button. This is office equipment, business. Everyone here is using it. Now including you!"

She gave me a wry smile. "It's in your kitchen in your home, Peter. If you get audited, I don't think it will fly. But I will do whatever you want me to do."

I had glanced away from her when she said that last bit, but I thought I noticed a change in her tone. However when I turned back to her, she was looking down at the espresso machine receipt. She marked it as office equipment, and we quickly worked through another dozen or so more expense receipts before coming to another one that she was uncertain how to record in the company's books.

"What do you think we should do with it?", I asked.

"I will do whatever you want me to do," she said, looking up at me. Her gaze was sure and calm; there was a kind of quiet strength in it. Again we looked at each other for a long moment, and then again she looked down at the papers in front of her.

"Michelle, are you telling me something, something that you think I want to hear?"

Again she looked at me, calmly, certainly, deliberately. "I will do whatever you want me to do." Then she smiled softly, and for the first time I saw in her eyes a trace of longing, of a want that she had probably carefully suppressed for months.

I reached across and closed her file folder, and slid her papers to the side of the desk. Leaning forward, I took both of her hands gently in my own, and looked into her eyes. She looked hopeful, but nervous at the same time.

"Michelle, this is what I want you to do. I want you to go home..." She immediately looked crestfallen, so I squeezed her hands reassuringly. "No, I don't mean it like that, listen carefully. I want you to go home. I want you to take your time, and relax. Have something to eat. Cozy up on the couch for a while and read something sexy or romantic.

"Then go upstairs and get undressed, very, VERY slowly. Do it as though I was undressing you." Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath as she apparently remembered our last time together.

"Take a long, hot, relaxing bubble bath, at least half an hour, and make sure you rub the hot, soapy water into every part of your body." She inhaled a huge sigh, and her eyelids half-closed. "I want to you to shave or trim everywhere, as close as you are willing to do it, maybe a little more.

"When you get out of the bath, dry yourself very gently and very slowly, as though it wasn't you drying yourself, it was your lover, or Brad Pitt, doing it." She sighed again, and then slowly, as the Brad Pitt joke finally registered, smiled a bit shakily.

"Don't put on any makeup or perfume. Put on a super-thick, super-soft, warm terrycloth robe, a white one. If you don't have one, I want you to go shopping on your way home and buy the very best one you can find anywhere in town - no matter what it costs, get the best - and I will pay you back for it. I want you to put on that robe, and nothing else, nothing at all." I paused. "Well, unless you have a pearl necklace," I smiled, "that would be very nice. Then light one candle and put it by your bed.

"When you're ready, I want you to unlock your front door and turn out all the lights in the house. Go back upstairs, and lie on your bed and wait for me. I will come at ten o'clock, sharp."

I paused again as I smiled encouragingly at her. "That is what I want you to do. Will you do that?"

Her hands in mine as I was speaking had begun to tremble very slightly. Her eyes were open again, glistening and dancing around my face, and she was smiling softly, her breasts rising and falling with her long, deep breathing. She turned her hands in mine and squeezed my fingers gently. "I will do," she said in a low quiet voice, "whatever you want me to do."

After Michelle left, I relaxed too, and then had a shower. Still naked, I padded around packing a little bag with toys to take to her place, including a bottle of the marvelous Pjur Body Glide, a superb silicone-based lubricant. A little of it makes skin on any part of the body feel silky-smooth, wonderful for long, sensuous rub-downs. Add little more and all friction disappears completely... incredibly slippery. And it lasts and lasts without ever seeming to dry out or get sticky. As I thought of using it liberally on Michelle, my cock started bouncing up and getting in the way as I packed the bag. I dressed quickly and left.

Driving through the crisp fall air to her townhouse not far away, my mind wandered through the things I wanted to do with her. By the time I pulled into her driveway and saw that her house was dark, with only a faint warm glow from the upper window, I had pretty good wood on.

Her house was warm as I opened the front door, fresh-smelling with hints of a soapy bath and of vanilla that may have been wafting from the candle upstairs. I closed the door with a deliberate thud, wanting to leave no doubt that I had arrived. I then took my time in hanging my jacket in the closet, and began to slowly ascend the narrow stairs. Every few steps I let my foot fall more heavily, so that Michelle would know that I was getting nearer, but then waited seconds before advancing further.

She was lying on her bed, not coquettishly perched on an elbow but flat on her stomach, hands by her sides, face flat on her pillow, turned towards me. If I needed further confirmation of her pleasure in being submissive, that might have been it. That, and the fact that she silently watched me as I entered the room, eyes wide and shining in the warm candlelight, smiling a bit tentatively, breathing heavily. Her marvelously-fluffy white terrycloth robe billowed around her body, revealing just her smooth calves and feet and small-looking hands in the dim light. The soft glow of pearls peeked out from under the robe at her neck.

"Michelle," I said softly, "this is absolutely perfect, you've done very well."

She smiled more widely, and pressed her hands against her hips. "Thank you," she said, and after a pause, "I really enjoyed getting ready. Thank you for that too."

I took several things from my bag and laid them beside each other on her bed-table. One of them was a wicked-looking stainless steel thing, an Njoy dildo that was great for anal and g-spot play, but looked like a steel instrument of torture. "Don't worry about this thing, Michelle, " I said as I laid it down, "all of these are for pleasure only, the last thing I'd do is hurt you." She did look a little worried, though, as I stepped back and began unbuckling my belt in front of her, but she didn't say anything.

I let my pants fall to the floor, leaving on my cock-tented shorts, and pried my slip-on shoes off my bare feet. Still dressed in a loose-hanging shirt and shorts, I sat on the edge of the bed. Brushing back a stray lock of her hair, I bent to kiss her cheek softly. I began to rub over the cozy robe, down her back and onto her bum, moving the soft cloth against her naked skin beneath it, as I talked to her.

"Michelle, you've been a very good girl and you are going to be rewarded for it. If I do anything that causes you pain, it will be by accident. Tell me right away and I will stop. However if I am not hurting you, you must submit to me and accept what I'm doing, even if it feels strange or different, and trust me to make it part of your pleasure. Do you understand this?"

"Yes," she said tentatively, in a small-sounding voice.

Momentarily worried I asked, "Do you want it this way?" Immediately her confidence seemed to return and she looked up at me. "Yes," she said firmly, "Please. I will do whatever you want me to do."

I brushed her face. "Undo your robe," I said, and pull it out from under you." She humped herself up and quickly complied, laying face-down back on the bed with the robe pulled out on either side of her, hands again submissively at her sides.

Holding the cuff of her left sleeve, I nudged her arm and she pulled it out of the sleeve. After extracting her other arm, I nudged both into a folded position on the pillow just above her head. The fluffy warm robe was now just draped across her body. The pearls at her neck looked warm and soft in the candlelight.

After rubbing up and down her back and bum for a few minutes, deliberately moving the robe against her skin, I drew away to open the bottle of lubricant. I heard Michelle's long, deep sigh.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"Whatever I want to do," I rumbled. I wasn't really into this dominance thing for myself, but it seemed to succeed at my intention to excite her... I heard a slight whimper as she exhaled a long breath and sagged against the bed.

I warmed a little oil between my hands, and began massaging her arms and barely-exposed shoulders. The silicone lubricant imparted a silky-ness to her skin... just a little of it made skin seem softer but still very tactile, not slippery but smooth and sensual. I worked into her muscles from her neck to her fingertips, first one arm and then the other. Then I returned to her neck, and began massaging under the pearls and up the side of her neck.

"Ohhhhh, " she murmured, eyes closed, "even this is wonderful." She opened her eyes and tilted her head to smile gratefully up at me. I patted her cheek. "I enjoy it too, Michelle. It's very satisfying doing this to someone who really appreciates it." Pause. "It'll be even more satisfying when I've made you so limp and wet you can't even lift your hand, let alone your head." She groaned softly as she dropped her head back onto the pillow and closed her eyes again, and she pressed her bum against my hip beside her. "I feel like I'm close to that already."

I slowly rolled the thick robe down her back, a few inches at a time, until just the first swells of her bum began to rise above her back. When we had been together months before, I had left her shirt on and had felt more than I had seen of her back. Now seeing its smooth expanse completely naked, pearls at her neck, with her soft breasts pushing out from beneath her, was very exciting.

Reaching for the oil, I chose not to warm it in my hands this time, but held the bottle high over her back. I didn't squeeze it, just allowed the oil to drip out slowly. As the first cool drops splashed down, she sucked in her breath for each, and squirmed slightly as it continued to drip down, one tiny cold splash at a time, randomly all over her back. She murmured something into the pillow, unintelligible.

I returned my warm hands to her shoulders and began massaging again, spreading the oil into her soft skin, this time working down from her shoulders towards her narrow waist, and then back up again. I tickled lightly into her armpits, and glided on the silky oil down her sides and over the sides of her heavy breasts flaring out from her sides. Back and forth, up and down, occasionally eliciting little moans or gasps as I worked hard, and then lightly, and then hard again. I could feel her becoming even more limp and relaxed as I worked soothingly on her soft form.

Replacing her robe over her naked back, I shifted down the bed, took some more oil, and began on her left foot, strongly working my thumbs into its arch and smoothing down the sides of her feet and between her toes. I moved up her calf - not a trace of hair or stubble - and worked the thick muscle there... Michelle was in pretty good shape. I moved to her other foot and calf and repeated the performance. She was sagging into the bed, totally relaxed.

I then decided to take a little for myself. I'm a bum man, and slowly folding up her robe to expose Michelle's smooth thighs and wonderful full bum tented my shorts even further. I had to adjust myself before squirting a pool of oil onto her lower back, at the top of her cleft.

I spread the oil thickly around her luscious bum cheeks before gliding deep into the crevice between them, gliding up and down the smooth warmth, feeling her cheeks squeezing against my hand. I pressed firmly against her anus for a while, twirling my thumb around its crinkled pad, and then glided down to her already-slick perineum to fiddle some more. Michelle pushed her bum up to meet this attention, squirming and twisting against my fingers, which I took as a promising sign. For long minutes I kneaded her full bum cheeks and worked down towards her hot centre, while my cock reached full staff and then some within my shorts.

I returned to her leg, with more oil, working up her smooth left thigh with both hands, one inside, one outside, working up higher and higher, firm, then soft, then firm again. As I neared her pussy I could feel its damp heat while still inches away, and I felt Michelle slightly open her legs further and begin to tense in anticipation. I lingered away from it a moment or two, and then glided all the way up to press the side of my hand firmly into her centre, thumb against her anus. She gasped, and squeezed her thighs and bum against my hand as she pushed back against them.

She was soaking, sopping wet, slick everywhere and, wonderfully, bare. She had shaved herself completely! What a thrill it was to feel her thick, puffy nether lips, slick almost beyond belief, and the hot slit between them with the prominent bump of her clit.