My Wife, Her Boss, His Desk

"I may hate myself for this later, Eric, but OK-I'll play your little sitting game. How will I know that a meeting qualifies for the 'Amanda's tits and ass' treatment?" I joked.

"Please, Amanda, I take this very seriously. Your breasts, your hips, your thighs, it's true that it may seem unusual to speak so directly of their power and what they can accomplish, but I do because I take them so seriously, not flippantly. You are a not a 'piece of ass,' you are a siren, an Aphrodite newly emerged from the sea foam." He paused-maybe he himself beginning to think this was a bit much, so to loosen the mood he added, "But to answer your question, I think I'll simply place an asterisk next to the appointment. There is no need to create a new 'resource calendar' in Outlook for you body."

At this we both laughed.

"But there's one last thing, Amanda. Since we now have something of a little secret between us, I'd like to be able to mark this new intimacy by having a pet name for you, perhaps something short for Amanda. May I call you Amy?"

"Well, I guess that's OK-my best friend called me that when I was a kid, but no one has since. I think that would be fun. But, again, when you speak of intimacy I just have to say that we need to be careful there. I love my husband."

"I know, Amy. As I said, I have no intention of making a sexual advance at this time. And the preservation of your marriage, if that is what you want, will be a priority for me too."

Every little thing he said left me so agitated and confused. Again with "at this time"-and now preserving my marriage "if that is what I want." I couldn't put into words. I just felt all of it so agitating, but I didn't know if I was frustrated with Eric or with myself.

"But I do insist that we work to grow our intimacy, Amy. There is much we can do to develop our working relationship that can proceed with your husband's blessing."

This relieved me a bit, but things were about to take an unusual turn.

"In fact, Amy, I have taken the liberty of contacting your husband's firm-I am close with his superiors there-and setting up a series of meetings with him next week about a potential collaboration. I want him to be able to see you at work here, to see us working together, and for him not to be threatened in any unnecessary way. We want him to know that you take satisfaction in your work, in working with me, for him to know that he is not excluded from this, that your satisfaction can coexist with his."

I had no idea why Eric had suddenly turned into a marriage counsellor, and it seemed maybe a little beyond his skill set, but I had to admit that it was nice that he was thinking this through.

"Now, Amy, there is one thing I must ask. Your husband isn't to know that I have set up these meetings; as far as he is concerned they are coming at the urging of his superiors. We should not keep needless secrets from him, but I think this will be best."

"Of course," I agreed. This was hardly a deep dark secret, not the sort that would induce any guilt for me.

I felt strange though. I was confused about whether I was offended by all of this or somehow secretly wanted it. I was confused by how excited I was to be sharing this secret with Eric-that he found me desirable, that he felt others found me desirable, that he wanted us to explore this together. It was as if we were in a secret club together.

(At this I felt a pang of jealousy-but surely we had hit the fictional portion of the narrative-hadn't we?)

Anyway-when I arrived at work the next day, I saw the three appointments during the following week for you, my husband in the calendar. And each one of them had an asterisk next to it.

I went in to Eric's office to discuss it.

"So my husband is actually coming in?" I began.

"Yes," Eric said confidently, "I am looking forward to it. After our conversation last night I have spent some time reflecting and I am sure this is the right course of action. You are important to me and to this firm, Amy. And I want to make sure that your husband isn't merely tolerant of all that you do here, but is deeply supportive of it."

This sounded perfectly unobjectionable of course, but also a little strange. It kept sounding as though in Eric's mind there was much more going on here than I knew. It concerned me; and excited me.

Over the course of the next week we became closer. I became more comfortable entering his office whenever I felt the urge, usually to interrupt him with papers he needed to sign or a call he needed to take, but, if I'm being honest, I also began to go in when I just felt the need to see him. This is horrible to admit, but I did like the way it made the other girls in the office jealous that I got to go in there anytime I wanted. Clare was beside herself! But kept it contained. And beyond this there is something deeper I got from it. Somehow it centered me to sit next to him, on that desk. To feel it supporting me, to feel its firmness underneath me.

But sweet. I don't know how to say this part.

(I encouraged her to continue . . .)

As the week progressed I actually started to get nervous about you coming in. About you sitting in that office. About me sitting on the desk in front of you.

And-I really don't know how to say this. Promise you won't get mad?

(I promised . . .)

What is so fucked up is that I wasn't worried that you, my husband, would be offended by anything you saw. It's that I didn't want you intruding. It's that I was starting to feel comfortable with Eric gazing at my body on that desk, I somehow felt less comfortable by the thought of you, the man I love, doing the same thing.

I'm sorry-I'm so so sorry.

There were now things that I would let Eric do that I wasn't so sure I wanted to let you do. And this felt a little scary to me. Again-let me promise you that NOTHING physical had happened yet. All that transpired was in our minds . . . it was between his eyes and my body, between his charisma and my half-seduced brain. We hadn't done anything yet.

(At this point I was sure we were into fictional territory, and I had become to become uncomfortably aroused. But that "yet" definitely scared me a little . . . )

Do you want me to keep going? Are you sure I haven't said to much? No? Good. Don't worry. Some of what I've said so far is fiction. But I'm not going to tell you how much, or which parts.

I hope you aren't angry, because when I started feeling this confusing feelings, I didn't come to you like I should have. I'm sorry sweet. I just thought you'd be angry, but I had to talk to someone, because it was so so strange and confusing.

So I went to Eric.

I knocked on his door and he let me in. And, as was now our tradition, I sat next to him, on his desk, leaning towards him until my hair almost fell in his face.

"Eric," I began, "I've enjoyed the past week, and I've appreciated your openness, and it has allowed me to feel really grow in my role here, as HR would say." I laughed.

Eric laughed too. "Amy, it has been a joy. To have you near, to see you, to see you open up physically has been most rewarding. I am excited to see where this all may lead."

"Well-that's the thing." I jumped in. "I don't really know where this is going or what is happening. Can I be completely honest?"

"Of course. That is all I want." As he said this, Eric put his hand on my arm and I felt a shiver go through me.

"Eric, I know that, while a little weird, nothing we've done so far constitutes infidelity, but still I've been feeling a kind of guilt. And here's the strangest thing: when I think of my husband coming in next week, I find it strangely distasteful. Not because I'm worried about him, about what he will feel, about him being jealous or getting the wrong idea. After all, what's going on right now is relatively innocent. But somehow I just don't want him here-I feel like he doesn't belong. It's horrible, but while I'm comfortable with you, even with your other clients seeing me as I sit on this desk next to you, I don't want him to." I almost started to tear up. "Does any of this make sense?"

At this point I turned to Eric and leant in closer, until my hair, hanging down, began to touch his face.

"Amy--I know you find it hard to speak. So let me." He left his hand on my arm, and moved his other, resting it on my hip. "Amy, you are finding yourself experiencing desires that go beyond your marriage. Desires that involve the two of us, that involve what you are discovering about your body and your needs under my guidance. And these are desires that you do not see as belonging to your relationship with your husband."

"Yes . . ." I was so thankful he was saying all of this--I couldn't possibly speak, yet wanted him to . . .

"The thought of him here is constraining, because you want to explore these desires; you do not want him to cut them off. Am I right?"

I nodded.

"Good. Do not worry. I know just what to do."

At this his hand gently caressed the back of my neck, then moved up to my hair, his fingers moving slowly through it until he slowly grabbed it in his fist and pulled me to him. He pressed his lips to mine and I felt an erotic shiver beyond anything I have ever felt. It's not precisely right to say that I melted . . . instead something awoke in me. I reached out with my own arms with an intentionality, a will beyond anything I had experienced before and pulled him to me.

(At this point I was a fucking mess. My cock was so hard it was about to burst out of my pants. If Amanda wasn't going to touch it I had to . . . she noticed and laughed . . . )

Ahh. I see that you are enjoying this story too. Can you guess which parts are true and which parts are fiction? Go ahead-touch yourself. Let's see how far I can go before you cum-how about that? Then you can guess. I think you'll be surprised about where the line is drawn . . .

Anyway.

After a couple minutes of the hottest kissing I've experienced since college, Eric stood us both up and embraced me from behind as we looked out his window, gazing across the city together.

"Amy . . . it was natural that you should feel uncomfortable about your husband intruding on our space before we had clearly determined what exactly our relationship involves. It would be premature for him to be involved at all before you and I, between the two of us, have determined what this is, and will be. Once we have made the decision for ourselves, only then shall we involve him."

It is a sign of just how depraved with desire Eric had made me that this actually made sense to me. I found myself wanting to follow his lead, taking the conversation further, being even more overt and explicit about my desires . . .

"What do you mean, exactly, Eric? I need to know-tell me. What do you want from me?"

"I want you, Amy. And I know you want me. Show me. Show me that you want me."

And when he said that I lost all control. I am so so sorry sweetie. I just couldn't stop myself. I lept to him, kissed him, unbuttoned his shirt and kissed my way down his chest until . . .

Oh god, baby, do you really want to hear more?

(As this point she reached for by cock and began to stroke it . . . I asked for more . . .)

Oh baby-I kissed my way down his chest until I got to his belt, and I unbuckled it. I won't say I was being a slut, because that's not how I felt. I felt empowered to own my own desire . . . and what I desired at that moment was to search for his cock, and to get it in my mouth as soon as I could.

As I unbuckled his belt and pulled his cock out of his pants I felt an arousal I have never experienced. It was so fucking masculine. I don't worry about size the way you do, but it was sort of like the desk-there was just a solidity, and a muscularity, and a manliness to everything about him, to every part of him. Yes, if I really need to put in these terms, his cock was fucking huge. But I experience less the tape-measure data than I did the force, the power. The need I felt in the pit of my stomach to have it in every way. And right now that meant kissing it, tasting it, sucking it until I had pleased Eric the way he had pleased me . . . the way he had pleased me so deeply simply by telling me that he wanted me.

Oh sweetie, I wanted him to come in my mouth so bad. I felt such a thrill that I was on the verge of getting him to do something involuntary . . . that he was rocking his hips to push his cock further into my mouth. That this powerful man, Eric, the man all the women in the office wanted and all the men in the office feared, was involuntarily thrusting his hips to get just a little more of my mouth, just a little more of my tongue.

But as if sensing that I was getting a little to full of myself and my own growing power in our dynamic, he stepped back, grabbed my arm and spun me around and onto the desk. Oh god, babe-do you really want to hear more?

(Amanda's hand was now rubbing my cock in a blur, she knew she had me and I couldn't stop her. Yes . . . . I said meekly . . . don't stop . . . please . . . I need to hear everything . . .)

OK-just remember that you asked for this . . .

He spun me around so he was behind me and I was facing his desk--that desk. He reached for my breasts and freed them from my blouse and bra; he kissed and bit at my neck; his hands found their way beneath my skirt, beneath my panties . . . all the way to . . . oh god, babe . . . all the way to my pussy. Fuck . . . I was so wet.

With a dexterity and force I just had to yield to, he forced my top half down towards the desk, pulled up my skirt and tore down my panties. I felt my bare breasts against the desk, that desk that had been the center of all our flirtations, that desk that I sat on when he first caught sight of the contours of my body.

It felt so right.

"Tell me what you want now, Amanda."

I couldn't believe he was pausing . . . taunting me.

"Tell me. I want to hear it. I told you what I want. Now you tell me what you want. What you desire. What you need."

"Fuck-Eric-I need you inside me. Take me. Take me."

At precisely that moment I felt the tip of his magnificent cock touch the lips of my pussy . . . for the first time in over ten years someone other than my husband was about to enter my body. I shuddered with anticipation, then with pleasure as he pushed in to me.

It was the single most erotic thing I have ever felt. As he drove into me with powerful, confident, rhythmic strokes, my whole body rocked against his desk. My breasts pressed against the wood, my nipples now rigid as they felt the smooth surface, my cheeks pressed against it as I came closer and closer to coming.

I felt so uninhibited. With my left hand I reached for my clit to rub it as he fucked me. I was lost to my desires. But I couldn't even keep the concentration required to finger my clit. I hadn't had a cock this big inside of me in ages-probably never. I really couldn't control what was happening. Besides, at some point he grabbed both of my arms, forcing me down harder on the desk, sensing that I wanted this, pounding harder. And harder. And harder.

I only encouraged him with my moans and words. "Fuck me harder Eric-fuck me. Take me. Take me from my husband. Make me yours. Take my pussy Eric. It belongs to you. I belong to you. Fuck me-just please please don't stop fucking me."

I was going over the edge . . . I felt myself coming harder than I ever had. Was it Eric's body? Was it his cock? Was it his power? Was it the fact that I was violating my marriage vows? Was it that desk, a desk I was beginning to realize (in the midst of the best fuck of my life) had become the center of my erotic imaginings and fixations?

Strangely--yes. Yes, Eric's cock had a lot to do with it, but it was his cock driving into me on that desk that was getting me off. It was as though that desk's power and solidity were the only thing strong enough to withstand those thrusts. As though Eric's body was a hammer and the desk the anvil. And I the metal being shaped between the two as he drove into me.

As I went over the edge, I heard myself, as if another person, begging him not to pull out and to come inside me. "Do it Eric--fill me up! Own me! I want to feel all of you inside of me! Cum inside of me Eric."

And once he did I felt a peace and a pleasure I can't put into words.

Spent, he pulled away so I could stand up, so that I could get off the desk and collect myself, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave it.

My god, baby, I felt so so naughty, but so so satisfied.

I just lay there, half-naked, half-clothed, on that desk. I could feel my breasts, now sweaty, sticking to that desk. My makeup smeared, mixed with tears of joy now clung to that desk. And I could feel the semen of a man not my husband between my legs, leaking out onto that desk. And I wanted that feeling to last and last.

What is truth and what is fiction? (My Story)

So, at that point in Amanda's story I am ashamed to admit that I came. I came harder than I thought possible. And she noticed this. I mean it was obvious that I had ejaculated all over my chest, but it was also obvious to her that her story had touched some nerve in me. And I think she liked it. And she knew her power over me.

"So you like my story, huh?"

"That's an understatement."

"I don't think I've ever seen you cum so much, so hard. My little sweetie loves stories of his Amanda being naughty, doesn't he?" She laughed and kissed me. "But I'm a little sleepy now, so I'm going to go to bed. No need for you to touch me tonight-I got enough pleasure out of just remembering all those details."

"Remembering some and making up some, I hope."

"Yes sweet-don't worry-it wasn't all true. But I think you'd be surprised to know just how late in the story I moved from fact to fiction." She teased me. "I'll give you a couple of guesses before I go, but I really do need to get some sleep before work tomorrow. Eric is expecting a lot of me."

"Ok-I think the part about him catching you is true, but all that stuff about him wanting you to display yourself to clients, about the asterisks in the calendar-I think that's BS. Am I right?"

"Not even close. You aren't going to get anywhere close to guessing where the line is if you start all the way back there. If we're playing hotter-and-colder I have to say that you are ice-fucking-cold with that guess. Sweet."

My mind rocked a little at this-not just because the truth appeared to be a little more uncomfortable than I had expected, but because Amanda had this new confidence I hadn't encountered before. I found it intensely arousing, but I also felt as though she would have no problem wounding me if she felt in the mood to do so. I put together the courage to guess again . . .

"OK-so . . . I don't know what to say, Amanda . . . I guess you are saying that . . . I mean I can't quite believe this but . . . are you saying the line happens somewhere after he kisses you?"

"Getting warmerrrrr . . ." she cooed in a sing-songy voice.

"Oh god, Amanda-but we didn't discuss this-you never said you'd . . ."

She cut me off. "Sweet, let's be real here-you wouldn't be having me tell you these stories if you didn't want parts of them to come true . . . I think we need to explore that. Don't worry-not everything happened. He told me that he found me irresistible, and, I'm not going to lie, it felt good. Really really good. I didn't realize that I still needed to feel desired like that. So that part about me leaning towards him until my hair touched his face, the part about him caressing me and kissing me? That part happened. And I don't want to take it back."

"Oh god, Amanda . . ." I really didn't know what to say. Part of me was horrified, part turned on. Mainly I was worried we had just started on a path that I couldn't control. "But the rest? The rest about him taking you on the desk? That's fiction, right? Please tell me? Please . . . I need to know."