If you've ever had an Administrative Assistant that you had erotic thoughts about, you might be interested in this little, absolutely true, tale.
My name is Alex and I was the on-site, office manager for a concrete supply firm for nine years. We provided ready-mix concrete for almost any size project. We'd done everything from small patios to office buildings and multi-story car parking garages. We did it a little differently than most concrete supply firms. We mixed the concrete on site rather than truck it in the large bulky cement trucks you see on normal job sites.
I started as a laborer at sixteen, graduated to truck driver and eventually the office where I eventually became the office manager. Office manager is a misnomer. It was only a remote office at the supply depot and there was no one else in the office except my administrative assistant. Between us, we did all the paperwork, order processing and billing. We also answered the phones and handled any walk in customers. I hadn't seen the owner in over three years.
Traci, my administrative assistant who has been there twenty-one years, retired and I had to hire a replacement. Times were tough and I had several hundred responses to my help wanted advertisement on-line. Approximately forty respondents managed to send in resumes. I interviewed a number of candidates and settled on a thirty-something woman with some office experience and a killer body. I'm not particularly politically correct and I let my chauvinism and misogyny out when I'm alone or hiring a woman administrative assistant and her body helped ease my decision. Whatever other skills she didn't have, I thought I could train her to do but she'd make a nice addition to the office décor.
Anna, that was her name, started two weeks before Traci left. Traci used the time to train Anna and probably warn her about the boss' perversions. I had spent the seven years ogling Traci and fantasizing about her in spite of our age difference without actually touching her and she knew it. Traci, reeked cougar and now that she was leaving I'd never know if she could have been serious when she teased me since I didn't have the cojones to test her resolve.
Anna was on time the Monday after Traci was done. She began by making the coffee. She properly scrubbed and otherwise cleaned the coffee machine. The result was the best coffee we'd had in the office since the pot was new. She was obsessively neat and, by the end of the day, had everything in its proper place. The paperwork was all filed and she promised to have the files themselves fully organized by the end of the week. The only drawback, was she wore a slightly too large blouse that ballooned and almost hid her difficult to not notice breasts. That didn't stop me from sneaking a look or two from the side hoping to find a gap between the buttons.
By the end of the second week, Anna had everything organized to her liking, including my desk and filing cabinets. I resigned myself to her organization. She was the best worker I could have imagined and her body was fine too, even if she insisted on wearing conservative clothing.
By the middle of the third week, I began to see the method to her madness. There was an unusual amount of free time in the office routine. We spent less time looking for paperwork and could locate the proper catalogs in an instant. She had the bookkeeping and billing systems streamlined and she handled the occasional telephone inquiry easily and quickly. Most days we had enough free time to chat with one another through my open office door once we got the trucks on the road in the morning and before we checked them back in in the afternoon.
Sometime during week number three, two deliverymen arrived with a new sofa for my office. I hadn't ordered a sofa and, when I asked Anna about it she just smiled and directed the deliverymen to put the sofa against the bare front wall of my office. I didn't think I needed a sofa and considered having it sent back and disciplining Anna for ordering it, but it looked good where she had it placed so I let it go. It actually appealed to me as a good place to take an afternoon nap on a slow day.
By the end of the fourth week, Anna apparently felt that chatting through the doorway was awkward so she began to come into my office and sit in one of my side chairs while we talked. It was during this time that I noticed she was leaving the top button of her blouse unbuttoned. By the end of the fifth week, it was two buttons and by the end of the sixth week, three buttons.
I began to wonder if she was testing me. She couldn't help noticing my not so subtle glances in her direction. I wondered if she was encouraging me to make the first move.
The hunt for my cojones came to a sudden halt on Monday of the seventh week. The weather had turned cooler with the approach of winter and Anna came to work wearing a lightweight car coat. When she hung the coat on a hanger in the closet and turned around, I lost my breath but found my balls and their neighbor. She was wearing a moderately tight sweater with the top four buttons undone. Her bra, even with help from the sweater, was having trouble lifting her breasts into position. I could see significant cleavage and I could feel significant discomfort in my trousers.
I exchanged "good mornings" with her and retired to my office to adjust my tighty-whities. Anna took care of the usual morning chores and got all the trucks and workers on the road. By ten o'clock she was free to engage in what had become the usual conversation time in my office. I noticed she put something in the office door window and locked the door before coming into my office. I later discovered it was a sign saying, "Staff Meeting Today. Office will reopen at 2 pm."
When Anna sat in a chair in front of my desk, I asked, "What's on the agenda for today?"
"The same thing that's on the agenda everyday," she replied while playing with button number five.
"And what might that be," I asked innocently.
"I think you know. You can't be that unsuspecting," she answered as button number five came undone.
Now, I'm very good at fantasizing even if I'm slow to grasp the clues that lead to real life events. In my fantasies, I'm a strong alpha male that sweeps women off their feet and into my arms and bed. I always perform heroically and the ladies universally thank me for my efforts when the deed is done. However, I have to admit, that I was shaking inside as I got up from my chair and walked around my desk to sit in the other side chair. I was intensely aware of the growing erection in my pants and I had fear that it wouldn't survive the preliminaries let alone act heroically.
Anna stood as I sat. She walked to my office door, closed it, locked it and returned to stand in front of me. "We're alone and no one will bother us. What should I do next?" she asked.
"Wha ... What do you mean?" I stammered. This looked and felt like one of my fantasies and I was collapsing like a bad soufflé instead of responding like the man of steel.
"Come on," she said. "You must have fantasies. Fantasies about me, us. What do I do next in your fantasy?"
"Damn. This woman is good," I thought. "She's in my head. She's reading my mind. She knows about my fantasies. She probably knows what she does next but she wants me to tell her. She wants me to think I'm in charge. The hero. But we both know that's not true. I have to play the part, however. If I don't, the whole fantasy could fall apart and I'd be kicking myself forever wondering what could have been." "You take off your sweater?" I said somewhat hesitantly.
