My Marketing Men Ch. 01

New boss reaches into my skirt, then into my pants, then into me, while my fiance encourages me to let him.

This story is largely about a committed couple who lived for several years in separate cities, required by their jobs. Both partners gave the other room to have sexual experiences, short-term affairs so that they did not have to be completely celibate for their years apart. Their affairs were not "cheating" or "unfaithful" in any sense. They encouraged each other to enjoy themselves sexually, just so long as they did not become entangled emotionally. They talked a lot about their adventures, used them as fuel for their mutual lust. Sport fucking, yes; romance, no. This story is about the woman's adventures in her workplace.

If you are upset by the idea of spouses having sexual experiments outside their primary relationship, please stop reading right now. Don't just leave nasty comments because you don't like this type of story. Skip it entirely. You have been asked politely.

There is a lot of truth here, plus some fictional details added for spice. The overall arc of the story is completely true. Some incidents, some actions, some dialog have been elaborated, increased in intensity and detail. Ms. Screwloose isn't a slut just because she went to bed with a number of men. She was still single, and her fiance encouraged her to play. If anything, he was her coach cheering from the sidelines. She was basically serially monogamous in her affairs. Sex-driven, not sex-crazed. A helluva woman.

For some years between grad school and marriage, my guy and I carried on a long distance relationship, me in New York, him in DC. We got together on weekends as often as we could afford, bless Amtrak. Train was cheaper than the shuttle (plane) but still too expensive to do all the time. Otherwise we just had long phone calls and the occasional letter. We were young and in love and highly sexual, so there was hot stuff in the phone calls and the letters.

I was assistant to the president of a medium size marketing firm. I had an MBA and several years' experience, so I was not just a glorified secretary. I was his top staff guy - well, girl of course, but that's what he told people: "See my staff guy." At that time, I had been working there about four months.

This was a very proper, buttoned down office: suits on the men, dresses or suits on the women. Skirts were well above the knee as was the fashion then. But no pantsuits. Verboten. It's not that there was no hanky panky in the office, it wasn't *that* buttoned down. I saw hints of it in some of the working relationships, everyone saw a little of it, but it wasn't blatant. So, a normal office, somewhere in the middle between a convent and an orgy.

He was really a nice guy, my boss. Fiftyish, tall, thin, salt and pepper, really good looking. Personable, forceful. Smart as a whip. Top in his field. And I really liked him. He was, of course, married out in Connecticut somewhere.

One day, I was showing him new figures for an ad campaign, standing next to his chair on his side of the desk, leaning down to reach the papers. Our meetings were like that, he seated at his desk, with me standing next to him, usually leaning down to point out important notes or numbers on the papers. This day, as I was leaning down, he put his hand around my waist gently to pull me closer. Okay, not that big a deal. I didn't object. It distracted me for a moment, but not a problem, and it went no further that day.

The next day, same situation, he pulled me closer. And then, after a minute, his hand slid down onto my hip. And then after another minute, down to my ass. Now *that* was distracting, and I lost my place for a moment, but it didn't interrupt the conversation much.

I was a little surprised. There had not been a lot of sexual tension between us. I thought he was a very attractive older man, probably the BMOC in his college days. He was gorgeous and a jock in his youth, and was still very handsome years later. I had, and still have, a thing for rugged guys with a little gray at the temples, so he fit my type.

I didn't know what he thought of me as a woman, at least not until that moment. He had touched me a few times, an encouraging pat on the arm, Good Job, that sort of thing. This touch was not a friendly touch or encouragement, nor just a pat on the butt. He left his hand there, stroked up and down my ass from waist to leg, and caressed me. These were the days of near-universal pantyhose on businesswomen, so all he felt was a firm butt through my skirt. I wasn't appalled, I didn't scream or slap away his hand. This was decades before the days of sexual harassment lawsuits. Boys will be boys, y'know. The meeting ended, I stood up and left his office, tingling a little from the overly-familiar touch.

Wow, I didn't know what to think. An affair with the boss was a cliche and not a good one. Risky. It might aid promotion possibilities, but who wants to be the girl who "slept her way to the top?" And if it goes wrong, it's always the girl underling who gets fired or transferred to Siberia. But he was a very sexy guy, powerful, magnetic. And I was between playmates. I had to be careful.

I talked to my honey about it in a very offhand way. I didn't think it was a big deal, though it was certainly more than a hand casually around the waist.

"Is he really off base here? I mean, is 'dipping your pen in the company ink' expected or frowned upon or forbidden? If someone found out about it, who would be in trouble, you or him?"

"Oh, I think I would, There are some hints of office relationships, but nothing really public. And he is The Big Cheese, so no one would challenge him on it, even if there were a policy about it, which there isn't."

"Okay, what do you want to do about it? What are you concerned about?"

"Well . . . I don't object in general to a little fondling. But what if he wants to go further with it? What if he wants to feel me up? Do I let him play with my boobs? Kiss me?"

"Don't ask *me*! What do *you* think? Are you concerned about being a toy or about your career?"

"Career more. I guess I don't mind being exploited a little bit to keep this terrific job."

"Then do whatever you feel comfortable with. You know that, sweetie. Play as you wish. Have fun. Just tell me about it. And don't get too involved."

Given that reassurance, I didn't withdraw, I didn't object, so this became standard, this touching, every meeting we had where I was standing by his desk. He liked my ass, and I learned not to mind. There was no worry about getting caught. It was an old office in an old, stone, financial building, with heavy furniture and solid doors, heavy bookshelves, soundproofing. No one could see or hear anything from outside.

Then one day, during our usual meeting, his hand strayed lower, down my leg. Much lower, down past the skirt to my stockinged leg. And caressed there. Now this was different, much more familiar. Conversation stopped. When his hand came back up, it caught the hem and went on up under my skirt. Not far, but clearly under. Headed up my thigh. On the *out*side of my thigh, yes, but inside clothes. Yikes, this was getting very familiar. I know what it means when a guy reaches under my skirt. Was I to be a plaything as well as a business partner? I waited to see.

I didn't want this to happen, well I didn't *think* I wanted it to happen, and I was not encouraging him. I just wasn't pulling away. Maybe it would stop here. Maybe being felt up a little by the boss was part of the job. My guy always told me what a slinky bitch I was; maybe the boss just couldn't resist my charms. Ha ha. Right.

The next day, his hand was back on my ass, then my leg. Then the leg nearer him, so it was not on the outside of my thigh anymore, but on the inside. Whoa. And he exerted a little pressure to pull that leg toward him. God, he wanted me to open my legs! This wasn't just an almost-innocent touch anymore. My legs were not tight together, just standing there, but they were not that wide apart, either. Oh, six inches, maybe a foot. He pulled again. I complied. I moved my knee toward him another foot. He felt higher on my leg, well up my thigh, I could feel the skirt being lifted by his wrist. Omigod he was within a hand's breadth if the top of my leg. Another few inches and he would be touching my crotch! I had spread my legs to give him room to get to my sex! Sure, I had the pantyhose and panties between his flesh and mine, but still, my boss was feeling me up, on the way up to my pussy.

He didn't go any farther that day, to my relief. He kept his hand on me, way up high on me, close to the goodies but not quite, and I eventually liked it there. My legs stayed open and his fingers stayed within an inch or two of my crotch. My pussy was aflame with the possibilities. After a minute, we both got used to it, the sexual possibilities demanded less of my attention, and his hand on my thigh even began to feel normal. We went back to the papers and the subject of the meeting.

I had to think about what was going on, what he wanted to do to me, and what I wanted him to do to me. I didn't want to start a tawdry office affair and then get fired when it went south. This wasn't a simple situation. He was the boss, so his superiors wouldn't force him to fire me - because there weren't any superiors. But it might become a corporate embarrassment nonetheless. Or his wife might find out and go ballistic. And I would be disgraced and thrown out. Tricky.

I talked to my fiance about it that night. I explained to him that it had started as an innocent-seeming togetherness thing but that it had definitely taken a turn toward real sex.

He wanted to hear all about it. Details. How I felt about it. What I wanted. Was this a do-you-want-to-keep-your-job situation? Would I be forced into it? Was I attracted to the guy? Did I want to have an affair? Did I want to get laid during the week because my love life was lacking due to the distance?

"What if he tries to go really up my leg, I mean, farther, all the way up my leg? You know, between my legs?"

"That's up to you, babe. Did you like him feeling your leg? . . . If this is getting in your way, you have a couple choices. Confront him and stop it. Remove his hand, slap it away. Of course, that might wreck your job if he's really a horn dog."

"No, bad idea. I like my job. I want success at this on my resume."

"Okay maybe just step away and stand farther away from him. Like, on the other side of his desk"

"Maybe. Possible. A little hostile. I don't want him to think I don't like working for him."

"Or, or, if you are enjoying it, then let it go ahead. You know you can. Another step. Do you still feel comfortable with it? Still enjoying it? Then go another step. Until you don't like it, then stop there."

"Yeah. How many steps? Does he just want to play with me now and then? Feel me up because I'm young and firm and nearby? I don't know what his relationship with his wife is like. What if he wants to go much further? I mean, he's already feeling between my legs, and right next to my sex. What if he wants to get into my pants? Do I let him fondle my crotch? Do I let him get into my pussy, my hole?"

"Hey, relax. One step at a time. Breathe. . . . Relax. . . . Were you excited or creeped out by his hand on your thigh?"

Gulp. "Excited. I was getting hot."

"Do you want it to go further?"

I chewed my lip. What were my insides telling me? "Yes. Yes? Yes?? . . . Yes, I think so. So do I let him feel me and . . . get under my clothes . . . under *all* my clothes?"

"What are you worried about? Me? Don't. Babe, if you like it, you can do it. You know that I support whatever you want to do. If you want me to help you look for another job, I'll do that. If you want me to cheer from the sidelines while you have a little fun and get laid, I'll do that, too. And I'll like that one a lot more than the other."

Okay, one more step. I could go as far as I want and stop when I want. Just no romantic entanglements and no pregnancies.

My getting a little on the side was not a problem for either of us. Not for me nor for him. That was our agreement, our relationship. We were in love, engaged, firmly committed, but we were very adult and open about our sex lives. We recognized that we both had needs while we were apart almost all the time. I had had a few informal relationships, from a couple weeks to a couple months, and so had he. We were a perfect match that way. We wanted to have some fun during the weeks, and fucking is one of the most fun things to do. Playing like that kept us occupied during some of the weeks apart, and provided lots of hot talk when we were together.

NY had an endless supply of men. Mostly married men on the prowl, looking to have an affair. Single girls searching for a real mate found the pickings lean. The guys were all already married - or gay, or arrogant assholes. On the other hand, I didn't want a relationship to last more than a few weeks or months, so my needs and the available supply were well aligned. So long as the wives were not going to shoot us both in flagrante delicto, it was not a problem.

My guy was always eager to hear the details of my encounters. Who, what, when, where? How much I enjoyed it? How I was touched? Where? Kissed, eaten, fingered? Fucked, top, bottom, doggie? Sat on a face, sucked something, got sucked?

(DC had an endless supply of women, too, for him to play with. But they were mainly single and looking for a husband, so he had to be extra careful about emotional entanglements. And especially pregnancies. Danger, Will Robinson!! As a result, I was having a lot more fun than he was, physically, so he had to enjoy some of my fun vicariously. Sorry, honey.)

He especially loved hearing what I did in public, always more questions for prurient details. Was I kissed, felt up? Hand under clothes, hands *really* under clothes, hands inside me? Moaning in public, orgasm in public? Molested on the subway, felt up, boobs, ass, crotch, over clothes, under clothes, really felt up, fingered, liked it, even fucked? Got peeked at upskirt, got photographed upskirt? Published my own upskirt pics? Published nude pics, made a porno? Flashed my panties, removed panties to flash, removed underwear in public? You get the idea. Everything. He wanted to know anytime sex crossed my brain or heated up my body. I got pleasure out of playing around - twice! The first time when I did what I did. And I got hot all over again talking about it with my honey.

You get the idea. He really wanted details. He was enormously turned on by my sport fucking. Did I fuck myself or get fucked by toys, objects, devices? Who was watching, how many, in public or private? Groups, witnesses? Passed around from man to man? Held while others felt me up, shared willingly or not? What kind of guys, tall, short, thin, fat, young, old, experienced or not? One at a time or more, parties, nudity, stripping? Were there any girls involved, too?

We both were incredibly turned on sharing those details, over the phone or in bed. A ridiculously exhaustive list. No one could do all that stuff.

(You probably recognize some of these activities from our previous stories. I didn't do *all* these things, of course, or have them all done to me, but I have to admit to a shockingly large proportion of them.)

Such was the main subject of our phone sex and dirty letters. Living apart is Horneyville.

The conversation this night centered on my boss running his hand up my leg and aiming for my crotch. Yes I was a little shocked at first. No I wasn't upset.

"Did you like his hand on your thigh?"

"Yes, I like the feel of a man's hand on my thigh. Most of the time. Well almost all the time. Even a grope on the subway."

"Did you open your legs for him? Did you encourage him to reach way up your leg?"

"Yes I willingly opened my legs for him. Yes I wanted him to go farther up my leg."

"Did you want him to feel your crotch? To cup your pussy?"

Gulp. Moment of truth. "Yes, in that moment, I wanted him to feel my crotch. I wanted *some*one to press into my crotch. Feel the heat of my crotch. Feel my damp pussy. . . . Oh, god, Yes, I wanted him to feel my pussy." Ohmigod was I really saying this? What would I do if he did? "But what if he wants to do more than just feel my pussy through the pantyhose. If he wants to get *into* my pussy? I think I would be hot and wet for him."

There, I said it: Yes I wanted him to get into me, into my pussy, inside my sex. No I wasn't worried about getting caught, I was smart and careful. No I wasn't worried about office gossip, this won't leave the door of his office. Yes I want to let it continue.

"Has he done anything else? Does he kiss you? Hug? Feel you up?"

"No he didn't kiss me or feel my breasts. And that was odd. Not yet, anyway."

Yes I felt a little like an object being used. Yes he very much respected me professionally but no I didn't get an emotional vibe from him.

Yes I'm nervous as hell about it but I want to continue.

"Okay," he said, "then you have to plan for it. You can't be too forward, though. From your descriptions, your boss is a real alpha male. He'll want to pursue an available and somewhat submissive female."

Right on. Yes, very alpha type. The Boss.

"What's between you and your goal. Specifically, what's between him and your pussy?"

"My clothes, what do you think? But I have to wear them in the office. Dress code, you know."

"Well, pantyhose are clearly an obstacle. Stockings would put less in the way, but you hate stockings and garter belts and they're probably not in the dress code anyway."

"Hmmm, possible but dangerous with short skirts these days. I haven't noticed them on any of the other women, so I don't think they're common. Probably considered risque. Maybe not forbidden but dangerous."

"Okay, well, um, let's make, um, shall we say, structural modifications to the pantyhose. Cut out the crotch panel. Scissors, easy."

"Cut them open? But they're expensive!"

"Who cares? Tell you what. I'll buy you two pairs, really good ones, for every one you mangle. Okay? Deal?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, deal. But that doesn't really clear the path to the goodies, does it?" If I wanted him to play with my pussy, that would mean *inside* my pussy, his fingers in me. As far as we could go with just me standing next to his desk and his hand up my skirt. I got wet just talking about it. But how with more cloth still in the way?

My guy, always the clever engineer, had a solution immediately. Wear my panties *over* the pantyhose rather than under. Not visible, but available! Then I could take them off before or during, or a man could slide them down to uncover the promised land. And the pre-cut hole in the pantyhose would provide a target bullseye right to my lips and clit and hole. Oh, god, he was right, brilliant. If I had worn garter belts more often I would have remembered this from experience: keep the panties outside the garters if you want to take them off easily, like even to go to the bathroom. Duh! If I were just a little more girly-girl, I would have known this myself. Leave it to a guy to plan around the sexual subtleties of women's underwear.

"One more thing, babe. You haven't mentioned the real goal here." Gulp. I knew this was coming. "Here's a guy, with a hot, slinky girl right next to him. A girl who doesn't reject his advances. Who accepts his touch, maybe even appears to invite him to touch her, openly, sexually. Who spreads her legs for him when he asks." Oh, god, he's right. "Who rearranges her clothes to open the way to her core. What would a guy do?" Gulp. "If I were that guy, I would not stop with just my fingers in her. Guys never stop. I would want to go to bed with that girl."