The Accountant and her PA

Part I: Louise reveals her slutty side

It may seem strange to say that I was looking forward to my annual meeting with my accountant, Louise. But over the ten years or so that she had been doing my tax return I had come to like her, and to enjoy her evident admiration of my growing success as an author, a success all too evident to her from the income I earned. Equally, I had witnessed her career develop to the point that now, still not quite 40, she had become a Partner in her firm.

I won't deny that I also felt a slight attraction to her, and that is strange, too, because she isn't in any obvious way attractive. If anything, she is on the plain side. But there is something about her which always gives me the sense that, despite that, she is slightly dirty-minded, someone who enjoys a good romp in the bedroom. I knew that she was married, and felt slightly envious of the husband she had occasionally mentioned and who, presumably, knew the truth of the matter.

Not that anything had ever been said between us other than, just possibly, the very mildest of flirtation in the way she expressed her admiration for my achievements. Nor was there anything in any way unprofessional in her conduct or her clothes which, invariably, were a nondescript grey business skirt and jacket, revealing neither her figure nor her flesh. She also wore slightly severe spectacles though, for some reason, these contributed to that almost indefinable sexual presence.

And so it was at our latest meeting. In the past, she would have met me at reception but now that she was a Partner she had a Personal Assistant to greet her visitors. This turned out to be a very attractive, but rather haughty, young woman who introduced herself as Lucy Myers-Mcleod and led me to Louise's new office. Rather than to the rather drab, meeting room I was used to from previous visits, this was a large, well-proportioned room on the corner of the building, with floor-to-ceiling windows providing a fine view of the city centre. Along with the internal window giving out on to the corridor, it gave the room an airy lightness, and it was big enough to accommodate both Louise's desk and a large meeting table.

There, Louise greeted me with a smile and handshake, and asked her PA to bring us some coffee. I knew her well enough to congratulate her on her achievement of Partnership, remarking on the accoutrements that went with it, the office and the PA, and even joking, rather feebly, that she seemed to have a new hair-do to go with her new status. Louise gave her familiar laugh -- a dark chuckle which, in fact, was another part of what gave her a slightly sexy persona, despite her rather plain looks. That persona was augmented on this occasion by the fact that she was wearing black, knee-length boots with a small heel. They were perfectly normal, and many women wore them at this time of year but, at least to me, they had a certain eroticism.

A few moments later, her PA returned with the coffee. I couldn't help but notice her sleek elegance, and the slight crackle and fizz of her tights as her long legs scissored her across the room. For that matter, I noticed those legs, encased in blue nylon running up to the short blue skirt she was wearing. But it was only a passing glimpse, as she quickly served the coffee and left. As she did so, she glanced at Louise, who gave a small nod, the full significance of which I only realized later that day, and she closed the blinds on the internal window giving out on to the office corridor.

"Yes, Lucy is a marvel," Louise said, after the girl had left, referring back to my remark about her newly acquired PA.

Pleasantries over, we sat down at the meeting table and got down to work. Soon we were immersed in my tax paperwork, until at one point she mentioned, as had become a running joke between us over the years, that she could smell a slight odour of cigarette smoke on my sheaf of documents. Yes, I admitted ruefully, I was still smoking.

"Oh, well," she said. "We're all allowed one bad habit."

I laughed.

"I'm sure you haven't got any," I responded with, I suppose, just the tiniest hint, if that, of flirtation.

"You'd be surprised," Louise answered.

Suddenly, there was a different, charged atmosphere in the room. She blushed, looked away briefly, then lifted her eyes so that she was staring straight into mine.

"Or maybe shocked," she said.

"I'm not easily shocked," I said, lightly but with meaning.

"Really?"

"Try me."

"Well," she said. "I like wearing slutty clothes."

She paused, and then went on.

"For men other than my husband."

There was a longish silence.

"What does he think about that?" I asked, though it wasn't actually the first thing on my mind.

"He doesn't get a say in it," Louise replied.

"But he knows?"

"Of course. He sees me getting dressed up. It makes him very jealous."

"So what are slutty clothes, then?" I asked, wondering if she'd answer, or whether she had said as much as she was going to.

"Well, it could be a tight little micro-skirt, with bare legs, and a loose-fitting spaghetti-strapped top and a lacy black bra that anyone can see if they look. You know, like the girls who hang around the coach station at night."

She was referring to the red-light district in the city centre.

"Of course," she went on, "That's no good if the man I want to dress for is coming to the office."

She gave me a meaningful look.

"That requires a more subtle approach," she finished.

"Tell me," I croaked, by now inflamed with lust.

"Hmm, well, let's see. Take right now, for instance. I look the picture of professional respectability, don't I? But look what happens if I take my jacket off."

So saying, she unfastened the button of her jacket, and shrugged it off. Underneath, her white blouse, which had hitherto seemed so nondescript, was revealed to be sleeveless and virtually transparent, making it obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"See," Louise cooed. "Look at my cute little boobies, shimmering under the silk. Can you see their shape, their firmness? Can you see my sexy brown nipples, all hard and pointing through the flimsy material?"

She leant back in her chair, crossing her slim white arms behind her head. This had the effect of thrusting her breasts forward, and also of showing her underarms, where small dark patches of sweat were visible through the material of her blouse, and a few stray tendrils of hair poked out. It was, unexpectedly, almost as erotic as sight as her breasts.

She held that pose for a few moments, allowing me to drink in the sight. Then she leant forward, and ran her hand up my thigh until it reached the engorged bulge in my trousers, which she gripped firmly between her fingers, seeming to appraise its size. As she did so, I could see her breasts moving under her blouse.

"Can you imagine me giving you a titty-fuck?" she whispered, having seen where I was looking.

I reached out to touch them, but she moved back, out of my reach.

"Uh-uh," she warned. "No touching - yet. I want to show myself to you. I want you to get a good eyeful of my slutty little get-up."

As she said this, she stood up and slowly hitched her skirt. Its hem rose from its sedate position, just below her knees, and gradually ascended to reveal, first, her black-nylon-clad legs, then the darker black of stocking tops. With tantalizing slowness she continued, now showing a black suspender belt, which contrasted sharply with the whiteness of her upper thighs. Eventually, her skirt was rucked up around her waist, and a pair of skimpy, black lacy panties came into full view.

She stood quite still, watching my reaction. I could see the dark triangle through the gauzy black lace, and the slight bulge its hair made against the tight material. She saw where my eyes were focused.

"That's right. I don't shave it. I'm a mature woman, not a little girl. And my tight little fuck-slit is very wet right now. A mature, fuckable, slutty married woman, with a tight, wet hairy fuck-slit."

Then, she turned round, displaying the black panties stretched tautly over her bum. She turned her head over her shoulder, holding the pose, and again watching my reaction.

"How do you think my husband felt when he saw his slutty little wife getting dressed for work this morning? Knowing, because I'd told him, that I was going to be meeting a big-shot author today? Taunting him with the possibility that I really might treat another man to the sight of my stockings and suspenders and panties? To my firm, bra-less boobs?"

I gasped.

"You mean, he lets you?" I asked.

Louise laughed.

"No, of course he doesn't 'let me'. He just doesn't get a choice."

She moved closer to me, and sat down on my knee, her underwear still exposed to view. I could feel the pressure of her bottom against my penis.

"Imagine I'm your slutty secretary," she whispered, looking over the top of her glasses and pouting in a theatrical way.

"You can feel my boobs now," she continued.

I reached to cup them through the thin silk of her blouse, kneading the firm flesh and finding her nipples with my fingers.

"Be rougher with them," she said hoarsely.

I complied, squeezing hard, and pinching the nipples. She gasped.

"You have strong hands," she said. "I like that."

By now, I was inflamed with lust, but at that point she jumped up, tugged her skirt back into position, replaced her jacket, and returned her own chair. She picked up her pen again.

"Well," she said. "Now you know my bad habit. But we'd better get on with your tax return, don't you think?"

Gulping down my frustration and lust, I somehow got through the rest of the meeting, and we stood up to leave. Louise came and stood right next to me, and once again gripped my cock through my trousers."

"Don't worry," she whispered. "It's just that it's not safe to do anything here. But I needed to find out first if you were big enough... down there. Not like my husband. And you are, just as I'd guessed. I can usually tell. But now I want you to be thinking of me, inflamed by slutty little Louise, and you are, aren't you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

She gave a lop-sided smirk.

"I reckon so, yes. And I'll be telling my poor little hubby this evening that his slut wife is going out on a date very soon."

"I can't wait for that," I said. "I've got to have you now."

"We can't. We might get caught," Louise said, but I could sense she didn't mean it.

I looked at her.

"OK, but you must be quick -- and quiet. Don't worry about holding back, just use me as a fuck hole. I like it that way and, anyway, there will be plenty of time in the future."

She climbed on to the meeting table so that she was on all fours, facing away from me. She scrabbled her skirt up around her waist and parted her legs, presenting me with her bum, panties, suspenders, stockings and boots. The contrast between her normally staid, professional demeanor and this wanton offering of herself was complete.

I ran my hand over her lacy panties and pulled the gusset to one side, exposing her vulva and the surrounding dark hair. I unzipped myself.

"Don't wait," she urged. "I'm already wet for you. Just shove it in my fuck-slit!"

Without further prompting, I did as she asked, rapidly pushing my whole length into her. I knew that she was right that we had to be quick, and I was on the edge anyway, so with a few hard, almost animalistic, thrusts I ejaculated in her.

Immediately, she jumped off the table and quickly made her clothes respectable again. Then, to my utter surprise, she picked up her phone and started tapping. When she had finished, she showed it to me, laughing:

"Your slutty little wife showed a real man her sexy undies and he fucked me there and then in the office. And, yes, his cock is much bigger than yours ???? Lx"

That wasn't the last surprise. Before we left her office, she reached, rather awkwardly, up her skirt and worked her panties down over her legs and boots. Then, she pushed her whole hand, holding her knickers, down my waistband, inside my own underpants, so that they nestled against my cock, where she left them.

"I'll see you soon. Meanwhile, there's a little present, just so you don't forget about me."

We left her office and stood in the corridor where almost immediately her PA shimmered into view.

"Right, I should have all that ready for signature by the end of the week," Louise said. "Lucy will call you to confirm arrangements."

We shook hands, and Lucy led me back to reception, where I took the lift down to street level and left the building.

Later that day, my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but answered, giving my name.

"Ah, good afternoon, Mr Johnson. This is Lucy Myers-McLeod from -." She said the name of the accountancy firm. "We met briefly earlier today. I'm just calling to arrange your next meeting with Louise."

"Oh, yes," I said, casually.

"Just to clarify, I'm Louise's personal assistant. So you can speak to me in complete confidence and, as you may have noticed, I am not using the office phone."

"I see," I said, taking in the implications of that, including the meaning of the nod Louise had given her PA earlier that day, which had led Lucy to close the blinds in the office.

"Good. Well, I gather that Louise has shown you what she calls her 'slutty office outfit', and even given you some of it as keepsake. But she really wants to meet you wearing her, well, her out of office clothing -- I think you know the kind of thing she means. So could you make your way to her hotel bedroom at about 7pm tomorrow evening?"

Somewhat taken aback, I agreed, and she told me the name of the hotel, a rather luxurious but discreet place in the countryside to the south of the city..

"Um, Lucy," I began.

"I would prefer to remain professional," she interrupted. "You may call me Miss Myers-Mcleod."

"Very well," I answered. "Well... Miss Myers-McLeod, as you obviously know all the details of this, could I ask you about Louise's husband? I mean, I really don't want any sort of... unpleasantness."

She laughed, briefly.

"Indeed not. Don't worry. I will be with her husband -- cuck-sitting, I hasten to add."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Well, it's quite simple. Whenever Louise is... getting satisfaction, I sit with her husband to control him. It's nothing to do with him creating any 'unpleasantness', as you put it," she explained, laughing. "Julian really isn't that kind of man. No, it is that he becomes very sexually excited when Louise cuckolds him, so she has given me the authority to sit with him to make sure that he does not masturbate. Now, if there's nothing else?"

Well, how could there not be? But then how could there be? I finished the call.

Part II: Lucy cuck-sits Louise's husband

Lucy Myers-McLeod prided herself on her discretion and loyalty to Louise, her boss. She had joined the accountancy firm at the age of 18 having, despite the expensive education paid for by her father, an investment banker, achieved no qualifications. It was not that she was unintelligent, not by a long way, but she just hadn't been interested in academic subjects. She had been good at sports, especially netball and badminton and, that, along with her good looks, had ensured her popularity. Other than that, the only thing she enjoyed was drama but, with no qualifications, she had no chance of drama school. Some places would take you on audition alone, but she hadn't got in. So she took a job as a receptionist at the firm, joined an Amateur Dramatic group, and hoped eventually to pursue a theatre career.

That had been seven years ago, and there was little sign of progress. Even in her AmDram group she never got any really good parts. As for being a receptionist, after the initial few weeks, the work bored. Perhaps, if she had met the right man, she would have married him and become a housewife, like her mother. She had no shortage of male admirers, attracted by her well-proportioned, figure. At nearly six feet in height, she could easily carry her large, 38D breasts, and regular gym sessions ensured that she maintained an hour-glass silhouette, her hips and bum flaring dramatically from her waist. And, if not beautiful, she was certainly very pretty, a prettiness augmented by her well-styled chestnut brown hair and carefully applied make-up. She also dressed elegantly, thanks to a generous clothing allowance from her father.

So there were plenty of boyfriends, and some of them found themselves invited to spend the night with her at the flat her father had bought her. But none of them lasted long, and certainly none were marriage material. Mostly, they bored her, and she dumped them. It was always Lucy who did the dumping and, in time, she began to be known at the Drama Group and in the firm as an 'Ice Queen' or, less flatteringly, a 'ball-breaker'.

Thus, by the age of 25, Lucy Myers-McLeod had been stuck in a rut until, about nine months ago, Louise rescued her from it. They had known each other for years, and had had many friendly conversations, though without becoming friends. That was partly because Louise was almost fifteen years older, and partly because there was an unwritten barrier between the professional accountants, like Louise, and the support staff, like Lucy. But when Louise was offered a Partnership of the firm, making her entitled to a Personal Assistant, she had asked Lucy if she was interested in the role, saying she saw potential in the younger woman. Lucy readily accepted.

Since then, there had been a steep learning curve. Louise had inducted Lucy into the complexities of her work, which Lucy had found unexpectedly fascinating, and she had come to have great regard for her boss's abilities and laser-like focus on her work, which she came to emulate. At the same time, it was necessary to spend long hours together which often, in the evenings, encompassed drinks and dinners. The two women came to know each other well, and to have a deep trust in each other.

Inevitably, over time, they began to talk about their private lives. Lucy explained the near-contempt she felt for her many boyfriends whilst Louise, to Lucy's utter astonishment, confided about the ways in which she cock-teased and cuckolded her husband. It had simply never occurred to Lucy that any marriage could be like that, and especially Louise's marriage. For Lucy had met Julian several times at work events, and not only did he and Louise seem devoted but also he seemed to be a confident, successful man, some ten years older than his wife. Yet now she knew that Louise routinely flirted with other men and sometimes cheated on him, and rubbed his face in her infidelity, but he accepted it. Not only did she find it astonishing but, she admitted to herself, and, eventually to Louise, she found it deeply exciting.

Soon after Lucy admitted that to Louise, Louise made an admission to Lucy. She had a problem, and the problem was that, whenever she had sex with another man, Julian invariably stayed at home, masturbating. She found it distasteful, as if her husband were treating her like a porn star in his imagination, and yet she realized that he could not control himself. Gradually, Louise made her request: would Lucy 'cuck-sit' for her, that is, sit with Julian whilst Louise was being unfaithful to him, and prevent him from masturbating or, if she chose, to supervise his masturbation? As to how she did this, up to and including physical restraints and corporal punishment, well, that was up to Lucy. She would take control of him and have complete authority when cuck-sitting.

Lucy did not need time to decide. From the very moment Louise suggested this very personal extension of her role as a Personal Assistant she was enchanted by the idea. More than enchanted, she felt a deep flush suffusing her whole body and felt her panties becoming saturated with her sex juices. For the next few nights she masturbated almost uncontrollably, picturing how she might cuck-sit Julian, and finding that, when she did so, just thinking the words 'take control of him' and 'have complete authority' could bring her to orgasm.

By the time that Louise told her that she was going to have sex with her client Mr Johnson, a successful author, Lucy had already had several cuck-sitting sessions with Julian, and was completely confident of her ability to exert her authority over him. Just recently she had demonstrated that to herself by standing in front of him, wearing a skirt and blouse, and slowly undoing her blouse to reveal a lacy mint green bra which barely contained her large breasts and which, of course, he had gazed at longingly.

"You are being disrespectful," Lucy had said. "You are disrespecting me, disrespecting your wife, and disrespecting my brassiere." She deliberately used the old-fashioned word.

He began to apologise.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Myers-McLeod for disrespecting you," he simpered, addressing her as she had insisted he must.

"No. Apologise to my brassiere," Lucy had ordered.

"What?" he queried, for once rebelling. "I'm not going to apologise to a bra..."

"Brassiere," she interrupted. "Not bra. Brassiere."

"OK, then, 'brassiere'," he said. "Whatever you call it, I'm not going to apologise to it."

"Oh, I think you are," Lucy told him, and then she let fly with the cane she had used before, but never in this way, lashing his buttocks over and over again until she was out of breath.

"Now," she barked. "Do it."

And he did. He actually apologized to Miss Myers-McLeod's brassiere for disrespecting it.

Now, having made the arrangements for Louise to meet Mr Johnson at a hotel that evening, Lucy was getting dressed for the cuck-sitting. She loved dressing up. It was a bit like doing theatre. So far, she had worn all kinds of sexy lingerie for cuck-sit sessions. Panties, bras, camisoles, stockings, suspenders, and all in a variety of colours. Generally, she wore skirts of various lengths, with blouses and sometimes jackets. On other occasions, she opted to be almost contemptuously unsexy, wearing jeans or trousers with a sweater or cardigan. True, even dressed like that she could look gorgeous, and certainly more than able to inflame Louise's husband with hopeless lust as she taunted him about his wife's infidelity.

Today, though, she opted for something different again. An ivory girdle with a shaped bodice and suspenders, the kind of garment women used to wear in the 1950s, with the suspenders attached to matching ivory stockings. It was retro, and yet it presented her luscious boobs and her creamy thighs in a very contemporary way. It fitted every inch of her body, from her hips to her cleavage, firmly and snugly once she had closed all the fiddly hook-and-eye fixings. Over it, she put a vintage 1950s sleeveless frock, pale blue with black polka dots, tightly cinched at the waist and with a flared skirt, and trimmed in white at the collar. High-heeled black shoes completed the outfit, and took her height up above six feet.

As she dressed in her flat, Lucy felt herself getting very wet, and the heat rising from her vulva engulfed her whole body. She felt -- a simple yet strange word came to her mind -- womanly. The word excited her even more. Then she thought of another word. I am a Goddess, she thought. I am Miss Myers-Mcleod, a Goddess to be worshipped. Without even touching herself, her body convulsed and she orgasmed. Still shaking, she called a taxi to take her to Louise and Julian's house in the suburbs.

Louise had given her a key, but Lucy knocked at the door of the large detached house, knowing that her boss would not have left Julian on his own. As Julian opened the door, Louise was coming down the stairs. She was dressed in what she called one of her 'street slut' outfits, very different to her office persona. This time it was a tight black micro-skirt and a translucent white blouse, with a gauzy black bra visible beneath. Her legs were bare, and she wore clumpy white sandals on her feet, and her face was plastered with make-up, eyes dark with mascara and lips painted a deep red. She looked like a prostitute, which was exactly her intention.

"What do you think, Julian?" she asked her husband tauntingly. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"I... I don't know," Julian said feebly.

"Oh, I think you do," Louise chided him. "I think you know very well. Anyway, I'm off now. Miss Myers-McLeod will be in authority over you now."

"You look stunning," she said, turning to Lucy. "I hope you make sure he behaves. I've left the cane in the sitting room in case you need to administer corporal punishment."

With that, she covered her outfit with a raincoat and, ignoring her husband but with a smile to Lucy, left to drive to the hotel.

Lucy had cuck-sat Julian often enough by now that she had established a routine. She strode past him into the sitting room and sat down in an armchair. Julian followed her.

"Strip. Kneel. Worship," she ordered in a bored voice and, taking a book out of her handbag, she settled down to read. Because she was attempting to understand Louise's work more, and was even considering taking some professional course, the book was 'English Tax Law: An Introduction'.

Julian removed his clothes and knelt before her, as instructed, gazing in adoration at her beauty, drinking in every inch of her, from her elegantly styled hair to the heels of her shoes. His penis, small as it was, was erect. He longed to touch it, but knew better than to do so.

Lucy read in silence, ignoring him, for about ten minutes.

"Kiss and lick my shoes," she said eventually, without looking up.

Julian bent to comply, running his mouth over the shiny black leather of her shoes. Another ten minutes passed.

"Now the heels," she said, still not looking up.

That was more difficult, as he had to get his face right down to the carpet, and she didn't give him any help by lifting her heels off the ground, but he obeyed.

After several more minutes, Lucy put her book down and ordered him to stop, and to resume looking at her worshipfully. Now she met his eyes for the first time.

"So," she began. "Louise will be with him now. How does it feel? How does it feel to know that your wife, the woman you married, is with another man? A real man. Right now. Maybe he is stretching her out, opening her up, the way you never could with your little cock. How does it feel?"

"Humiliating... exciting..." Julian stumbled.

"Exciting, eh? Yes, I can see your excitement. You can rub it. Your cock, I mean. Once, up and down, just once mind, then let go," Lucy said, a slight, mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Julian obeyed, though Lucy could see that he found it almost unbearable to have to let go of it.

"Thank me."

"Thank you, Miss Myers-McLeod," he gasped.

"And how does it feel to be under the complete authority of a girl half your age? How does it feel to know that I could do anything? For instance, I could take the cane to you. Then again, with a few light touches of my cool fingers I could give you ecstasy. It would be nothing to me, just a few moments of the most minor effort, no more than brushing some crumbs off my dress, but to you it would be everything. If I chose. Can you feel my authority?"

He gave more stumbling answers. Lucy never tired of asking him these kinds of questions, partly to dig the humiliation deep inside him, but partly because of the surge of excitement that saying these words gave her. She loved the contrast between the cool, casual way she spoke, and the burning feeling inside her, a sexual feeling, certainly, but one made so much more intense by the feeling of power.

In previous cuck-sitting sessions she had kept him like this for hours, asking similar questions over and over again, and, just occasionally, to keep his hopes up and to amuse herself, she would reach down and take his hard little cock disdainfully between her thumb and index finger, bringing him right to the edge of orgasm. Or, sometimes, whether deliberately or accidentally, she would take him just over the edge. At that moment, she would immediately withdraw her hand, ruining his orgasm and leaving him twitching and spurting pleasurelessly.

Alternatively, she would punctuate her merciless, humiliating questions with vicious strokes of the cane. In fact, at the first few cuck-sits she had used the cane liberally, determined to establish her authority. It had worked, so that more recently she needed only to issue quiet commands to secure his obedience. And, whilst she quite enjoyed inflicting pain, she actually gained more of a thrill from the verbal control she had over this much older man.

But today Lucy was planning something different, something new. It had come to her when she had chosen her outfit for the night. Standing up for the first time, she told him that he was in for a treat. He gazed up at her, towering over him, looking both puzzled and afraid. Slowly, she undid her dress and removed it, placing it carefully on the nearby settee.

"Look," she said. "Look at my girdle. Look at it hugging my breasts and my hips. Look. Adore. Worship."

Minutes passed as she saw his eyes running over and over her.

"You may masturbate to me," she said, casually.

She allowed him a few rapid jerks of his hand

"That's enough," Lucy said quietly, and he instantly removed his hand from his penis.

"Now. Who do I remind you of?" she asked.

"I... I don't want to say," Julian spluttered, blushing a deep red.

"Go on. I won't be cross. I remind you of your mother, don't I?"

"Yes, yes, but..."

"Shush, Julian, I don't mind. You can be honest with me. In fact, you must be honest with me. I know, you see," Lucy said reassuringly.

Actually, she hadn't known, not for sure. Julian was 50, so would have been born in the mid-1970s by which time such clothes had been out of fashion for two decades. But Lucy knew from some chance remarks from Louise that Julian's mother had had him late in life, in her forties, and that he came from a very traditional family, so there had been a good chance that her guess would be right, as had proved to be the case.

"Now Mummy's going to give you a treat," Lucy told him. "Look."

Lucy reached down and worked her breasts out over the top of the cups of the bodice of her girdle. She let them hang, large and firm, but very slightly sagging over the edge of the garment, their ample, creamy flesh a contrast with the sprawl of the brown aureoles which surrounded her now hardening brown nipples.

"Look. Adore, Worship," she said, as she had done earlier.

She could not believe the intentness of his gaze. It thrilled her, as it had before, but with more force than ever that she, a 25 year old woman, could exert such power over an older, successful, man.

She sat back down in her chair, her large breasts still on display to him.

"Come to Mummy," she said. "Mummy's going to suckle you. Come and suck on Mummy's big boobs."

Hesitantly, but either unable or not daring to resist, Julian, still on his knees, brought his head up to her breasts, and started sucking at her nipples, which now became rock hard. She let him continue for a while, but she still had more to do.

She ordered him to stop, stood up again and told him to kneel. This time, she removed her ivory silk panties, working them down over her hip-hugging girdle, over her suspenders and, eventually, all the way over her high-heeled shoes.

"Look at my triangle," she said, displaying the neatly-trimmed brown hair that covered her vulva and extended up to the base of her stomach. "Look. Adore. Worship."

Lucy knew that, as he had been allowed to suck on her breasts, Julian would now be hoping to be given the treat of sucking her pussy. She was half-tempted to grant his wish, as she was burning with need, but something told her it would diminish her authority over him, as if he was some kind of sexual partner. So she resisted the temptation, feeling annoyed with herself that she had even considered such a loss of control

"That's enough," she snapped.

Quickly, she replaced her panties, and eased her breasts back inside the cups of her bodice so that they were no longer visible, but she did not replace her dress. Glancing at Julian kneeling in front of her, she saw that his cock was harder than she had ever seen it before, positively engorged. It looked as if the merest touch would make it explode, which gave her a wicked idea for something which would compensate for her momentary weakness.

Without warning, she kicked him in the groin, her long, athletic leg transmitting its force through the point of her shoe. He fell back, his cock spurting jism everywhere, and lay groaning on the carpet. Miss Myers-McLeod said nothing, but merely sat down again and resumed reading her book on Tax Law, indifferent to the streaks of spunk on her shoe and ignoring Julian who, once he had recovered, returned to kneel before her. Looking. Adoring. Worshipping.

They remained like that until, eventually, they heard Louise's key turning in the lock.