Who's Driving This Thing?

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I guess life has been pretty good to me so far. I qualified as an architect, from a good college, and ended up joining a big firm with a reputation for award winning work. Things went well there, and soon I was heading up a small department. Then, a couple of years back, when we all started hitting 30, myself and a few colleagues decided it was time to break out and found or own firm.

The salary checks got smaller of course, and the hours got longer, but we were all happy with what we were doing. We had enough work, mainly sub-contracting, to pay the bills while we tendered for more interesting work, and a year ago we landed our first big project.

The client was a house builder in a city about 200 miles from our office and we were designing an upscale apartment block for him. The project was the biggest thing he had ever done and was easily the largest deal we had signed. Soon, as you might expect, things were getting a little tense.

As the building went up, there was the inevitable time slippage, but nothing we hadn’t built into the plan. The client, however, had allowed for no delays and he was beginning to hurt financially. Inevitably, he was trying to pass this pain onto us and, with no great pool of resources behind our little firm, it was decided that one of the management team should go up there on a weekly basis to oversee things. Andy (one of our project managers) was up there full time already, but he was getting steamrollered by the client and he needed a bit of senior support.

As the ex-departmental manager from the old days at the big firm, I had taken on the roll of Managing Partner, so it was no surprise when I got landed with the job.

We agreed I would go up to a site meeting every Friday morning to review the past week’s progress and agree actions and targets for the following week. With a 400 mile round trip drive, it was a full day and then some, but we had no choice: if the project failed then so would the client’s firm, and so would we.

In the first few meetings I could see Andy’s difficulty. Even with my support, we were seriously outnumbered and it was easy to be brow beaten into taking on more commitments than we should. I soon also realised that the minutes, as prepared by the client and sent to us on a Monday morning, had a habit of showing up actions that I couldn’t recall agreeing to. I had to regain some control.

I discussed this with my partners and it was decided that I should take Susie along to the meetings. Susie was a woman in her 40’s who had been with us since the start. She started off as our receptionist and was now kind of a ‘Girl Friday’ looking after the receptionists and various other admin. jobs. It meant that two people would be out of the business for a full day, and, with Andy also up there full time, it was a serious commitment for a small firm of 10 people. Nevertheless, it was something we had to do: this project was critical to the success of our firm.

The idea was that Susie would also take the minutes, so that we could catch any non-agreed points the client was sneaking in. Actually she had an immediate impact that was way greater than we had anticipated.

I hadn’t really been aware that the weekly meetings were an all-male affair. Susie’s presence had an immediate civilising effect, which moderated the language and counteracted all the testosterone flying around the room. We actually started making some progress.

After a few weeks, the problems with the minutes had disappeared and it was clear the project was moving forward; we were all working as a team, we were making up some time, and the stress levels were dropping. I actually began to enjoy myself.

With the project under control, the long drive up and back gave me the opportunity to take some time out and consider where we were going with the business. I started to make good use of the time, dictating fresh ideas and actions, while Susie sat in the passenger seat taking notes and making calls on my behalf.

The meetings started at 10 am, and although it meant a 7 am start, we were now getting done by 12 and I could make an excuse about having to get Susie home, to allow me to get back to the office by about three.

On one such drive home I commented to Susie on the difference the presence of a woman could make at these things. It was an entirely innocent comment, but Susie came back with: “Well Ben, I may be 42 but maybe I still have something left, eh?” With this, she glanced down at her admittedly large bosom, nicely delineated by the seat belt. I honestly hadn’t meant any reference to her body, but she didn’t seem at all concerned - quite the reverse if anything.

“Erm, yeah, quite.” Was all I could manage.

As I drove I realised that I had never really considered Susie in that kind of way; she was simply the lady who answered the phone and dealt with the day to day admin. of our firm. I had regarded her much like you would a fixture in the office: it’s there every day but you never really register it.

Driving on, I found myself using the rear-view mirror and some (hopefully) discreet sideways glances to check out Susie, almost as if I was seeing her for the first time.

Her age was no secret; she had already told me she was 42. She wore her dark, almost black, hair in a neat shoulder length bob. She was, I now noticed, quite pretty, with sharp distinctive features, green Irish eyes, and artfully applied make up, featuring boldly rouged lips. As always, she wore a smart dark business suit, the jacket hanging in the back. Her crisp white blouse was just low enough at the neck to display a hint of cleavage and, with the sun shining, was also just transparent enough to suggest the fullness of her breasts constrained in a lacy bra. I guessed, making a mental comparison with my wife’s ample 38C’s, that she must be around 40D. Her skirt was the usual modest on-the-knee length but had ridden up in the car to show a little more of her shapely, stockinged leg.

Maybe I had misjudged why the guys at the meeting had become such pussycats when she was around. I spent the rest of the journey home trying not to develop an erection.

As the weeks past, it was getting more likely that the project would come in on time and on budget. I realised I had been acting a little unfairly with Susie: I enjoyed my Friday journeys now, but she was in my car by 7 am and I was racing straight back to the office where she had to work until 5:30 pm. All with no overtime payments. As the company did not have an overtime policy, I made a deal with her: we would stop for lunch on the way back at a fine country house hotel I knew, and I would drop her right at her home by about 4:30 pm. Susie seemed happy with this. With her usual train journey back from the office she normally didn’t get home until around 6:30; so this would make up for the early start.

It was summer now, and over the next weeks we became regulars at the hotel for our Friday lunch. We would dine on the terrace, share a half bottle of wine, and talk. Soon our weekly discussions moved from work to a more personal level and we got to know each other better, almost friends now.

I discovered Susie was married to Bill, who ran is own plumbing business. I made noises about putting some work his way, but it seemed Bill’s business was running just about flat out already. Bill provide amply for Susie, and their two daughters away at college, and I began to realise, dropping her off outside her fine house, that she had absolutely no need to work. It turns out that, with the kids away, she just really worked for us to give her something to do in the day while Bill was at work and the help cleaned the house.

I also discovered that, despite all the money, Susie was less than happy in her marriage. She had got pregnant by Bill the summer she was due to start college. Bill, being a decent man and much to the relief of Susie’s parents, had insisted they marry, and so began Susie’s comfortable but rather unfulfilled life as wife and mother.

As we got to know each other better, Susie opened up a little more. Bill was an old fashioned, hard working, hard drinking man who toiled almost every day and relaxed afterward by sinking a few in his local bar. Dinner was often eaten alone, with Bill’s meal congealing in the microwave. I also got the hint that Bill was quite demanding in the ‘marital rights’ department when he got back from the bar on a Friday night. She hinted darkly at his ‘fantasies’ and drunken ‘demands’.

I couldn’t really share similar tales with Susie. My wife Elaine and I were still trying for our first kid and, being married relatively recently, our social life was good and sex was even better. Mostly, I let Susie do the talking.

Finally, in late September. the project was finished: on schedule and on budget. We had a wrap-up meeting and a glass of champagne onsite, and Mr. Chambers, the client, made me sweat a little before handing over a cheque for the final instalment of our fees, and a very healthy bonus. I tried not to run out of the office whooping, but I did deposit the cheque with a local branch of our bank, before heading back to the office.

Susie and I stopped for our usual lunch and I splashed out on some excellent Chablis to go with our lobster and oysters. She looked like she had made a special effort today; red silk shirt tight around her big breasts and opened to display a deep cleavage. I was enjoying myself and almost flirting, I guess.

The manager of the hotel noticed our celebratory mood and, after politely enquiring why we were so happy, he sent over a bottle of house champagne to thank us for our business over the last few months. it was only when I was sipping a 12 year old malt with my coffee, that I realised I had drunk far too much to drive. With a glass of champagne each onsite, bottle of champagne, bottle of Chablis and now a generous measure of malt each, both Susie and I would need hours to sober up enough to continue our journey.

I was mortified. I was meant to be the boss, lead by example, and here I was getting drunk at lunchtime with an employee. No matter how fine I felt, there was no way I was going to set an even worse example by getting in the car. Susie was also apologising profusely for drinking so much, when the manager came up to our table, very concerned at our change of mood, to ask us if everything was ok. We explained the situation and I told him we’d have to hang around for a while in the lounge, and have a lot of coffee before heading home.

Unfortunately the hotel was closing in the afternoon for a private function, a wedding party, and the little hotel didn’t have any additional public rooms. Looking at the rain outside, I was contemplating sleeping it off in the car. But the manager came to our rescue. he had a nice suite on the first floor which was not being used. He would have our coffee sent up and we could relax for a few hours until we were able to drive. We both thanked him profusely. He personally fetched our coffee and led us upstairs to the suite, telling us to relax, before he rushed back downstairs to prepare for the wedding reception.

Susie and I looked around the little lounge area and poured some coffee. It was only when we noticed the open door to the bedroom, that the incongruity of the situation hit home.

We took our coffee at the little table, by the french doors which led out to a small terrace. We were both trying too hard to be too cool about the situation and eventually we caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing.

I spoke first: “You know, I’ve never told my wife a single lie in all my life, but I just might omit to mention where I was held up this afternoon.”

“But you’’re OK to tell her who you were held up with?” pouted Susie, “A girl could take offence to that!”

I didn’t know whether she meant that she could be offended by my sullying her reputation in admitting I had been alone with her, or the opposite: offended by the fact that I didn’t see her as a potential ‘mistress’ and was OK with telling my wife I’d been with her.

“Whatever. I think I can say I was with you, or I was here in this suite; just not both at the same time.” I laughed.

“That’s funny,” Susie responded, “I think Bill would be rather enthusiastic if I told him.”

She lowered her head to sip some coffee, but kept her eyes on mine. Susie had already hinted enough at her husband’s ‘fantasies’ for me to guess what she was referring to.

“Mmmmm...” was all I could manage.

Susie kept her eyes on me, as if sizing me up. I was caught like a rabbit in the glare. She fished around in her little patent handbag and took out her phone.

She never took her eyes off me wile she spoke to her husband: “Hi Bill, it’s me.... Yeah, sorry......Look I’ve been held up at the project meeting....yeah sorry, I’ll be leaving shortly, so just grab something to eat at the bar...don’t worry....yeah, well, I’ll make it up to you later...maybe, just wait and see.

She hung up. Susie’s eyes then left mine at last, and focused on my own phone, lying there on the table. I picked it up and dialled Elaine’s direct work line. It was on voice mail and I left a message: I’m held up, etc. same excuse Susie had used. I rang off. I looked across the table at Susie. No lines had been crossed - yet. Just little white lies to cover a potential embarrassment. We were silent.

Susie broke the ice: “I’ll just freshen up a little. Don’t go away.” She strolled past me to the bathroom and closed the door. Was that a little extra wiggle? Was that for me?

I had a couple of minutes to decide on what I did next; I suspected this was deliberate on Susie’s part. My mind raced. I thought of Elaine; perfect preppy Elaine. I thought of our tasteful house, our great sex life and starry future together. I thought of kids still to come.

Then I thought of Susie: her big tits underneath that tight red shirt; her black push-up bra displaying them; her stockinged legs and the full scarlet slash of her lips. Then I thought about my cock, straining against my suit pants.

This was nothing to do with anybody’s future. This was about now: two adults unexpectedly in a hotel suite; loosened up by the oysters and champagne; and thinking maybe, just maybe.

Susie came out of the bathroom and I didn’t think much anymore. She had pulled her shirt tighter into her skirt. Her cleavage now even deeper; her tits strained even more against the silk. Her lips freshly rouged.

She sat on the edge of the chaise longue in our little siting room and said: “Well, I guess we have a couple of hours to kill.”

I said nothing; just got up from the table and walked across the room toward her. My legs were shaking. I sat down beside her.

There was no finesse. We leaned forward together and our lips met then mashed together. My hands went immediately to her silky tits; one on each. I squeezed her roughly, feeling their size and weight encased in her scaffolded half bra. I pinched her hard nipples roughly, then my hand found her thigh. I was being greedy, just wanting to feel as much of that body as I could before she changed her mind, or the maitre’d walked in, or I woke up.

Mouths still sucking each other in, my hand found her stocking tops, then the bare flesh, then the silk or her panties. Her hand was on my tented crotch, rubbing expertly with her spread palm. I didn’t pause; my fingers found her mound, then the gorgeous wet heat of her cleft, steaming through her knickers.

She broke off our kiss and leaned back on the sofa, pushing her hips forward to the edge of the seat. I had undone her blouse so that she was spilling out, pale and soft against the tight material. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist, showing her suspenders and bare flesh above. Her chest was heaving with each gasped breath and her green eyes burned with challenge, defiance and wanton lust.

This, I knew, was how I wanted her. Her professional, respectable attire pushed aside to reveal the raw sex of the woman within. I slipped off the sofa, knelt between those fine legs and pulled her panties aside to position my cock at her entrance.

We didn’t kiss again, just held each other’s gaze as I pushed home and then began to fuck her as hard as I was certain she wanted to be fucked.

She bucked and thrashed as I pummelled her. It was different from Elaine, more earthy, rough and urgent. I pulled her tits out over the cups of her bra and her hands went immediately to them, lasciviously kneading them and holding them up for my lips. I quickened my strokes and her legs locked behind my waist, pulling me in, just as her pussy gripped my pumping cock, and we both came: sudden, loud and harsh.

It was as if our orgasms had released us into sobriety. We slumped on the chaise longue and muttered bits of useless apologies between panting, sighs and giggles.

Susie went back into the bathroom to clean up. When she came out, we finished our pot of coffee, talking about everything but what had just happened. An hour later we were in the car, driving home. We were quiet, but relaxed with each other.

Presently I said: “You know, this afternoon already seems like a dream.”

“Maybe that’s just what it was.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

Later that night I met Elaine at our favourite neighbourhood Italian and, as we dined, I wondered what Susie was doing with Bill and if she was ‘making it up’ to him.

I wonder also who had seduced who that afternoon, and whether Bill would ever know that his wife had fulfilled one of his darkest fantasies, or whether in fact he knew what was going to happen before even I did.

I never did find out.

END