We had just been married for 2 years when we left the Air Force. 'We', because Andy, my husband was an Engineer on a front-line combat squadron based in Cyprus and I, the offspring of a military man serving on the same base, met him when I was employed as the PA for the squadron commander. It was an exciting life what with all the troubles going on in the Eastern Mediterranean and beyond. There seemed to be never a dull moment and the adrenalin was always pumping.
Then there was that other aspect to service life which added spice, which was that most of us were young, virile and 'up for it', and there was many an opportunity to have the occasional illicit affair with someone whenever the squadron was detached away from base. The squadron was often detached, and I used to miss Andy and was often horny and up for it!
It was an exciting and glamourous life while it lasted and a huge emotional wrench when the time came for us to be posted back home and for Andy to be assigned to some sleepy training establishment in the middle of nowhere, a posting that took no account of the job he had been doing when we had been overseas. Indeed, the change in circumstances was such that it took no time at all before he (we?) decided he should exercise his option to take early retirement from the Air Force and take his specialist skills into the Defence industry, to a company that manufactured the hi-tech and very secret equipment that he had been responsible for maintaining.
The company seduced him with offering a salary that was far in excess from that he was getting from the military (not difficult!) but there was a catch, the offer came with the requirement that he would be spending time away from home when he would be visiting the very same squadrons that he had been serving on when he was in uniform.
For us, it was a 'no-brainer', we had no offspring of our own to worry about and the offer was too good to pass up and so I soon found myself involved in the tasks of looking for a new apartment in the town where the company was located ('Silicon Valley', and very expensive) and then once we had successfully found somewhere, organizing the move to our new home.
We settled in quickly and Andy became immersed in his new role as a company rep and specialist for kit that equipped the Air Force's latest combat aircraft. He had to work long hours as he settled into his new role and while the money was still a great attraction there was no doubting that after some time our relationship began to suffer a bit, especially our sex life which had been significantly reduced. Andy was tired and exhausted after work, which made it impossible for him to fully satisfy my needs, and then there was the frustration that once the house move was done and settled that I had too much time on my hands and was looking for a job.
(The boredom wasn't the only reason to be seeking employment, the mortgage we had taken on buying the apartment was eye-wateringly expensive and we really needed the money.)
It took a while, but job salvation came via Andy who advised that there was a vacancy for a secretary in his new company. I applied, got through the interview (it must have been the military connection on my CV that swung it) and in a very short order I was welcomed into the company to begin work as a secretary for one of the Senior managers. I was made to understand that my job would require me to be handling top secret and commercially sensitive documents and one of the first things to be conducted was a security vetting and for me to sign the official secrets act which promised charges of treason (or worse) if anything went amiss with those documents whilst in my care! Again, it must have been my military background that swung the decision my way.
Andy and I both agreed what a neat coincidence it was that once again, we were working for the same employer albeit that this time, no uniforms involved!
My boss was a nice older man whom I soon discovered to be a bit 'muddle-headed' and certainly in need of a secretary/PA to take care of the mundane administrative stuff while he dealt with all the complexities of whatever it was that the company was involved with. He hardly seemed to notice my preference for a uniform of a different type, that of presenting a professional appearance, in fine, tight-fitting business suits, tailored jacket and skirt, and high heels shoes. I like to think that my body presents itself quite handsomely when I am dressed so.
I'm quite tall and have slim, fairly long legs and with high heels shoes I tend to tower over other girls and attract attention (well, that's my opinion!). I prefer skirts that end a little above the knees, so you can see a lot but not too much of my legs and, as I rarely wear tights, the nylon of the stockings that wrap around them.
I like the feeling of wearing stockings, hold-ups or attached to suspenders, and I believe it is healthier not to be enveloping my pussy in an extra, unnecessary layer of fabric of restrictive tights (especially as I seem to be forever horny!) The cut of most of my business suits emphasizes my firm buttocks, the quite narrow waist, and especially my breasts that need something to tame their still firm fullness.
Andy loves my body and especially my breasts (well, he did before he got this job and had time for me). There had been many a time when after he had fucked me properly to one or two orgasms, he would push his erect cock between my tits and then cum profusely spraying my face with his lovely hot spunk. God, how I loved him doing that (or anyone else for that matter). In any case, I was very aware that wearing the right blouse and the right costume jacket, that my breasts look extremely appealing and the sight of my cleavage and deep necklines can conjured up all manner of fantasies.
My new male colleagues, including my boss, glanced furtively toward me from time to time, but my black hair tied back at the nape of my neck, my professional facial expression and the steely-blue eyes behind the lenses of my designer glasses apparently didn't let them share any fantasies they might be thinking. Anyway, they, like Andy, seemed far too busy to have time to look too often!
It was all very frustrating as I wanted to be faithful, despite the sometimes-burning desire when Andy had a very hard week again, and I was very aware that the work that the company was involved in was very sensitive and therefore had no desire to 'rock the boat' by becoming either a nagging wife or a security risk.
So it was that the neglect of my marital needs finally resulted in an interim solution of new break habit. More and more often, I would take myself off to the ladies' room which was situated in the basement of the building, lock myself in the only cubicle and take out my little rubber friend, a purse-sized vibrator. Hurriedly, I would pull up my skirt, get rid of my panties and sit down on the toilet seat. Then I would spread my legs as far as I could in the cubicle, lean back against the cistern and began to stroke myself. Quickly, the pent-up juices of my starved cunt would begin to flow and then my little rubber friend's time would come, and I would carefully insert the pleasure giver into my aroused pussy, while the fingers of my other hand continue to circle over and softly stroke my clit. I always get very wet, which makes using a lubricant unnecessary and I usually cum within five minutes when I work myself in this way.
Another thing is that whenever sex is involved, I am always very vocal regardless of if I am actually fucking with someone or whether I am masturbating on my own. I can't help myself and I use expressions that I would never dare utter in public, expressions that extol the virtues of the size of the 'cock' that is slip, sliding into my wet cunt and other such observations. I don't know why I do it, but the words just come out. Whatever, it is a lovely lunchtime treat and sometimes I would still be so excited that I have to do it a second time before I returned upstairs to my desk.
Reaching orgasm had never caused me any problems. Ever since puberty kicked in, I began to deal more intensively with my sex. Growing up, I have already done it to myself with every conceivable object. Cucumbers, carrots, bananas, corn on the cob, candles; I am sure that I am not the only person to have noticed the shape and form of some feminine deodorant spray cans. The gear stick of my first car was very handy and I even had the handle of a tennis racket deep in my juicy cunt one time. How I love sex!
However, despite getting satisfaction that way, I would have preferred to have had Andy's hard cock but as his long hard weeks began to become the routine, so did my visit to the ladies' toilet down the stairs. My colleagues don't notice anything or make any comments about my frequent excursions to the rest room, I guess they were all too busy, too nice and well-mannered. The only person in the company who displayed any reaction, was the black guy who managed the document depository which was also located in the basement. He zealously ruled over his 'kingdom' single-handed and seemingly was always present close to the entrance of his domain as I passed by.
In contrast to the polite, friendly people I worked with upstairs, he was extremely coarse and, dare I add, ugly man who didn't enamour himself by his unfriendliness. My visits to the restroom apart, I often had to deal with him when coming to the depository to deliver or retrieve a file or document or something. The Archive was secured by a door which was permanently locked, controlled by a button on his desk. The door had a large window which allowed him to see who was outside and required access. Alongside the door was a hatchway/counter and, depending on the manner of business to be conducted with the archivist, that decided if the door would be opened to let you in.
The window also allowed me to see inside and when I passed by, he would usually be crouched behind his desk, which was covered with documents, and invariably would leer which added to his unpleasant demeanour and showed how little he liked me. Actually, he didn't like anyone, and I learnt that friendliness was a foreign concept to him, but his grumbling whenever I had to deal with him as part of my job him really got on my nerves.
He must have been in his 50s, but looked even older partly due to the way he dressed in tasteless, old-fashioned clothes. His coarse unkempt appearance was made even more unattractive by the distinct odour of the unwashed and of cigarettes which was emphasised by the overflowing ashtray on his desk. A totally unattractive picture ... but I was to get to know this man from a completely different side.
It was a few months into my job and on a day when I was feeling particularly horny and in need of relief that I retired to the toilet for a small break session. I went through my little ritual of pulling up my skirt and removing my panties and then sat down and parted my nylon covered legs. I was already dripping (Andy hadn't really gotten it for me for almost 2 weeks) and was just about to insert my faithful dildo into my cunt, which when my mobile phone rang. Cursing, I reluctantly put the phallus aside and picked out the phone from my purse. It was my Boss who was away on a business trip to the Ministry of Defence
