Every time she looked at her boss, Jeanette got extremely hot. Her face would flush, her heart would race, and she'd tingle from head to toe. If she tried to talk to him she would start out stammering until she got control of herself and calmed down... and even then she'd have to repeatedly take long, deep breaths to keep her voice steady. It wasn't that Jeanette was a shy woman - not by any stretch - but because Mr. Lyle (or Jeff, as he preferred his employees call him) was a tall, well-built, strikingly masculine man with a perpetual tan no matter what the season. And his eyes - cold, steel blue eyes that smoldered with a blue fire that not only ignited Jeanette's own fire, but did the same to almost all the other women in the office as well. Jeanette could get wet just looking at him... and quite often did.
Jeff was the object of many a fantasy for Jeanette. Some of those fantasies were romantic and sensual, while others were wildly erotic, and others even - dare she admit her desires? - kinky. She was so aroused by every line of his face, his sly smile, his every solid muscle and even the deep sound of his voice, that she had made a pact with herself years ago that if by some miracle he ever wanted to take her to bed, she'd say yes without hesitation and let him do anything he wanted to her. It was easy to make that promise to herself. After all, it would never happen. As pretty as she was, Jeff would probably never even notice her.
However, he did begin to notice her. At first it didn't seem to be much, but as time went on his glances her way became more than glances. Instead of looking her in the eyes when they talked - or rather, when he talked and she swooned - his eyes had begun to roam. First, they noticed her lips, his gaze lingering on them as she spoke. Then his eyes started moving lower, boldly taking in her ample bosom and sparkling their approval. She even caught him on several occasions admiring her legs from across the room, or sometimes ogling - yes, ogling... even smiling as he did so - her bottom as she bent to open a drawer or to get water from the fountain.
And, of course, all this attention from Jeff, even just from his appreciative eyes, made it that much more difficult for Jeanette to talk to him. She had no idea what his thoughts about her might be, but it was clear from his roaming eyes that he wanted to do more than just look.
Jeanette spent the better part of every day - when Jeff was around - with her thighs clenched tightly together, trying unsuccessfully to stop the flow of blood and hormones to her overheated sex. Over the course of several
weeks she had chewed her bottom lip raw, and there appeared to be no end to the torture in sight. On some days it got so bad that she'd rush home after work, throw her clothes off in a frenzy, and lie back on her bed or sofa, legs spread wide, and pretend that her Super-Dong vibrator was the handsome, hard as rock Jeff.
A few weeks after Jeff had begun to openly stare at Jeanette and caress her entire body with his eyes, he became like a shark seeking prey. Somewhere deep inside him he knew Jeanette wanted him, yearned for him, needed him sexually. The time had come to act on that knowledge.
While Jeanette was bent over getting water from the office fountain one Friday afternoon, she felt a brush against her bottom. It was light and brief, and it startled her more than anything. Still, she was instantly
aroused and flustered, because she could smell Jeff's cologne surrounding her, engulfing her in it's scent.
When she stood up quickly and whirled to face him - her intent to chastise him for touching her without her knowledge or consent - her eyes came even with his strong chin, and the smiling mouth above it. It was only as she looked into those perfect teeth that she realized that the sensation she'd felt on her bottom was
still there. His hand was still resting lightly on her warming cheek. As she stood there stammering, not knowing what to say or how to even begin saying it, he slowly removed his hand from her buttock, sliding it slowly and gently around and down toward her hip, slightly up her hip toward her waist and then slightly forward before allowing it to leave her body. The entire path his hand had traveled remained warm and tingly for several seconds after it was gone.
Before she could say anything, Jeff looked into her eyes and seemed to search them. His smile grew wider and he chuckled lightly. He put his finger up to his lips and said "Shhhhhhhh... ", grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Jeanette's mouth opened in protest, but nothing came out. Jeff looked at that open mouth and smiled even wider. He then looked back into Jeanette's eyes and said simply, "Nice. " He walked away, his cologne still wafting around Jeanette and entering her nostrils on its way to her brain. Even though she was a bit miffed he'd taken the liberty of fondling her bottom, however briefly, she found herself clenching her thighs tightly together again, and the sensation between her legs was something between pain and an intense itch. She bit her lip and went back to her desk to sit. She needed to collapse. It took several minutes for her hazy mind to clear and for the stubborn itch between her thighs to slowly, agonizingly vanish.
That was just the first incident. As time went on, Jeff made it a point of staring at Jeanette whenever he got the chance, and boldly let her know he was doing so. Sometimes he'd even nod his approval of how she looked. Eventually, the nods gave way to comments. "Your legs are looking hotter than ever today, Jeanette," he'd whisper in her ear as he bent next to her to get a cup of coffee. Sometimes the whisper would be accompanied by strong fingers sliding along her bottom or thigh, searching quickly under her dress or skirt, moving gracefully along the nylon of her pantyhose or cotton of her panties.
She would flush, sometimes stammer, even occasionally mentally prepare a verbal chastisement, but never did her face show even a hint of disapproval. Her body thrilled to his touch too much to ever discourage it. And every time he brushed against her or wantonly stroked or fondled her, her fantasies of being with him increased exponentially... and it ended up being another Super-Dong night.
It went on this way for weeks... maybe even months... Jeanette had lost track of time. Every day became an intense desire to have him near her, touching her. Whereas her initial reaction was to be irritated at his taking liberties with his hands, she now took pleasure in the arrogance of those hands, touching her whenever they pleased, however they pleased. She would gasp now when he came up behind her and squeezed her bottom or slipped his hand under her arm to grab her breast, taking his time fondling it... as if he had every right to do so, and for as long as he pleased.
While his hands fondled and explored even her most intimate areas, Jeff would whisper things into her ears. He would tell her how firm her buttocks were, how full and sweet her breasts, being sure to add how much more pleasure they could get from his lips... or tongue... or - he would whisper very, very quietly - his penis. Instead of being shocked, or outraged, Jeanette was aroused, and extremely so, even as she was disgusted with herself for being so.
As his boldness grew, Jeff began to openly slip his hand under Jeanette's skirts or dresses, his fingers probing directly for her crotch, which more often than not he found to be wet and hot. He thought nothing of coming up behind her and grabbing both her breasts in his hands, tweaking and pinching her nipples through her clothing. When she had her hands full, he would lift up her skirt and slip his hand into her panties or pantyhose without so much as a hello... until after he'd fondled her. He felt no need to hesitate or consider the consequences of touching her any way he pleased. Why should he? She never resisted, never objected.
