She Was a Good Girl

1

She was a good girl until that night she saw her boss kneeling down behind her desk, his face pressed to her chair, breathing in her scent from the place she’d been sitting. She’d always been the consummate professional, the smart, polite, proper employee.

It was an accident really: she had left for the night, but had returned to pick up a letter she’d forgotten, a letter that that really should have been posted by the morning. Laura Johnson had returned to the office to quite a surprising sight.

The man who had haunted the young secretary’s dreams since the day he had interviewed her for the job was pressing his nose to her chair as though it was some kind of narcotic. Mr Daniel Webb, whose handsome face appeared in her head whenever she touched herself, was pressing his face to her chair, where she’d been sitting all day. Gorgeous Mr Webb, who sent judders down her spine, tingles through her pussy whenever he spoke to her - and whenever he looked at her, whenever he paid her any attention at all - was kneeling there as though worshipping at her shrine.

It surprised her at first – more than that, it shocked her. She’d always seen him as so professional, so controlled and unemotional. Yet here he was, apparently giving in to some inner craving in the most uncontrolled manner. She’d always seen him as so cool and intelligent, so experienced in business and so important in the Company that he hardly noticed she was there most of the time. Yet here he was behaving as though he was an obsessive fan. He’d always been so isolated in his huge office, cut off from the world and his secretary, needing neither for the most part. Yet there he was.

What was he doing?

Standing there behind a large pot plant, out of sight, she couldn’t quite see all of him – was he reacting sexually to her scent? Or was there some innocent explanation? She decided she would not make herself known that night, she didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. Best feign ignorance.

Then he moaned – quietly, but definitely as moan.

She didn’t really know how to deal with this new knowledge: her image of him as her beautiful but aloof boss had been rocked as if by an earthquake. Standing there, she was simultaneously horrified and extremely aroused. At once, her mind was mulling over labels other people would use - “pervert”, “twisted”, “freak” - but her thoughts were also dancing in circles at the possibility that he was attracted to her. He was showing her the kind of attention she had dreamed about for weeks, albeit indirect attention.

She watched for a few moments, the sensations stirring between her legs as she heard him moan softly again. Her panties were becoming quite damp underneath her smart black skirt and nylons. Was he really such a freak? He was a man, after all, merely reacting to the traces of a woman. Nothing so unusual about that – wasn’t that why she put on her vanilla scent in the mornings, to attract him?

But why was he doing it? He didn’t need to skulk around behind the scenes, he could go to any bar, any club and be inundated with attractive women. He was gorgeous – his blue eyes, his tidy sandy hair, his striking beauty.

With fear of discovery overcoming her, Laura withdrew, leaving the office and the building despite being unable to pick up the letter she had come back to collect. She caught a cab home for once, so she could be alone with her thoughts on the way there.

By the time the vehicle had gotten five or six blocks away from the office, she found that any feelings of shock or revulsion had melted into a feeling of real excitement, butterflies fluttering around her stomach. Just that chance that he wanted her was enough to set her insides on fire, and she wasn’t inside her apartment five minutes before she tore off her clothes and took to the shower to tend to the heat between her thighs.

2

Before arriving at work the next morning, Laura debated with herself how she should take her new knowledge forward. How should she proceed? Confront him with what she’d seen? Force his hand, hope that she could break through the professional barrier between them and start what they apparently both wanted so much?

But what if she was wrong? What if she had got the wrong end of the stick, what if he hadn’t been sniffing her chair, what if there was some completely innocent explanation? She would look like a fool. She had watched him for quite a while that night – but maybe it had just seemed like quite a while to her. Maybe her mind had been playing tricks on her, showing her what she wanted to see.

There was also the problem that if it had all happened, she could seriously dent his pride by confronting him. He would be humiliated. She would be fired immediately, and he would never again want to lay eyes on her. That would never do.

“Good morning Laura,” he said impassively, as he always did, as he came in that morning half an hour after she did. He looked as he always did, calm, quietly confident without being in anyway forward, flirtatious or arrogant. The perfect boss. The sight of his cool eyes and pleasant face sending a warm feeling through her blood vessels.

“Morning, sir,” she said, revealing nothing of her true feelings, suppressing everything, reflecting in every respect the air of professionalism her boss gave out.

“Two letters to be transcribed and some paperwork that needs to be entered into the database today,” he put some papers into her intray and handed her a small cassette. No glance at this morning’s especially enhanced cleavage, no recognition that she’d put a little more perfume on than usual.

“Certainly, sir,” she said, and that was that, he returned to his sacrosanct office, a vast great space full of shiny surfaces and sharp edges. Cold and repressed, like he was.

Why couldn’t he come out of his shell? He worked late in the office every night, his only staff was her, he never seemed to socialise, never came in looking as though he’d been out drinking all night with the boys. Never revealed anything about himself, never talked to her about anything trivial.

Nothing happened all day, which was perhaps unsurprising since she only really saw him a few times that day, like any other. Taking in the typed letters, bringing him his lunch, showing in his two o’clock meeting. It was both a disappointment to her that nothing happened, and also something of a relief: he hadn’t caught wind of her new knowledge, she was safe.

She spent all afternoon thinking about what she would do when the clock struck five that evening. She didn’t really need to think about much else – the work wasn’t exactly difficult. The way Daniel Webb used his secretary was as if he only had her as a piece of furniture in his office, the work he gave her seemed just sufficient to give her something to do. He did the hard work, the important work. He was a workaholic. That was why it was so strange, what she’d seen the previous night.

She would stay behind tonight again, in just the same way.

At last, after what seemed a life time of waiting, the clock wound round to five p.m. She was careful to keep calm, to do what she would ordinarily do, but double back as she had the previous night. This time, she orchestrated the office slightly so that she could see better.

God, she was on fire.

Waiting, she wondered if he would do it again. If he looked like he was just going to walk through and leave for home, she would need some kind of story to give him. The letter. She still hadn’t posted it. But the story was unnecessary. Sure enough, some thirty minutes after her regular leaving time, his door tentatively opened.

He stepped outside his office, his eyes open wide, his ears pricked up, watchful for any sign of anyone around. There was none. On this floor of the building, it was just his office and hers as well as a long-term storage room – the isolation he preferred – and he clearly thought she had gone home.

Slowly, Daniel stepped around to her side of her desk, and lowered himself to the floor. She could see him blush, see something that looked like shame in his facial expression, and her heart went out to him, full of pity. There was pain there, pain inside him, pain from something in his past. Oh, if only she could be there to comfort him, to make him feel good again, to alleviate his suffering.

He lowered his face to her chair, and there was no mistake – he was pressing his nose to the front part of her seat, where she had been sitting. Breathing in her smell. His hand moving to his crotch, caressing himself through his trousers.

He wanted her!

Her heart was leaping about inside her. All thoughts about his strange way of dealing with his attraction had dissipated now, she was aroused, her pussy seeping at the thought of him pressing his face between her thighs the way he was pressing it to her chair.

But again, she withdrew, not trusting herself to keep quiet, also perhaps feeling a little wrong to be infringing on his privacy, causing him potential humiliation. She returned home again to her warm bed, where she could slip a finger or two inside her wet little pussy and nudge them against her burning clit.

3

It was difficult to concentrate on work with the tension hanging in the air. He didn’t notice any difference, of course, he didn’t change. But she had changed, her demeanour towards him openly flirtatious, though she always kept her control.

That next morning, she wore a particularly short skirt with black nylon stockings and suspenders. As she was walking away from his desk back towards the door of his office after handing him his lunch, she “accidentally” dropped a piece of paper, bending over to pick it up and in the process flashing him a nice view of her underwear.

She decided it would be too obvious to turn and look for some kind of response from him, but as she left the room, closing the door, she caught a quick glace of what she thought was a slight blush, and he was self-consciously shuffling his papers as though he was busy, even though he was supposed to be eating his sandwiches.

Sitting behind her desk again after her show, she found herself breathing quite deeply, her heart beating furiously. And her pussy juicing up considerably. She had an idea, which made her feel even hotter, the adrenaline surging through her veins. After waiting for a moment in case the angel on her shoulder wanted to put a different case to her, she shuffled in her chair so that her tiny black skirt rode up her hips – and she pulled her black lace panties to the side.

Her pussy was bare against her chair, her juices soaking into the material.

Was she going too far? What if he didn’t like the scent of her pussy? What if it was her perfume he liked, her clean vanilla perfume that turned him on?

She would take the risk – the element of danger only turned her on more. If he seemed to take a dislike to her smell, then so be it. But if he liked it… that was worth the risk. Nudging her little clit, she ground her pussy into the chair and thinking about how he might breathe in her pussy aroma that night, she surprised herself completely by edging over into a full-blown climax.

“Laura?” He popped his head around the door, at almost the wrong moment.

“Sir?” Laura just about recovered her composure in time, though perhaps her face was a little flushed, her messed-up dark locks concealing it slightly before she tucked it back behind her ear.

“Can you call Gordon Johnson and confirm tomorrow’s eleven a.m.?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks, really appreciate it.”

That slight awkwardness between them: he was so guarded, protecting himself from something. He had been burned, perhaps, some time back in his past.

She left the office at the usual time, of course, nothing out of the ordinary to alert him to her strategy. Then she found her place by the pot plant, sufficiently in shade and with a corner to hide around, so that he could not see her. She watched the clock ticking down, second by second, minute by minute, her arousal building by anticipation alone, her finger slipping under the elastic of today’s white cotton panties before her boss had even entered her field of vision. That half hour passed, and the door opened to admit Mr Daniel Webb into her little observation room.

Just like the previous occasions, he checked there was nobody around, then knelt beside her chair behind her desk. She was so saturated by the cocktail of nerves and excitement, she could hardly breathe properly. Then he lowered his face to her seat, and drew in a deep breath.

He was breathing in the smell of her pussy.

After that first time, he sat up again and she could see him thinking, see him considering the change in the odour he had been sampling each night. Watching him, Laura was on tenterhooks, her heart in her throat. What was his reaction to be? Did he recognise the scent of pussy? He must do, he had to be at least 35. It did seem like a while since he had been with a woman, though. Did he like it?

He stooped and took in another breath. Considering.

Then he let out one of those low, sexy moans, saying, “Oh God…”

Rubbing his face against the material covering the seat, the material saturated in her personal scent. He liked it, he liked it! Laura’s whole body was ignited, she almost came on the spot with her finger inside that wet little pussy of hers.

But again, she withdrew, worried that he would see her there, worried that her arousal would get out of control, that she would slip up and ruin it all.

4

Over the next few days, she tried to be bolder, more flirtatious. But still, he did not react to her. She wore her shortest skirts, she unfastened a couple of buttons on her blouse to reveal a glimpse of lacy bras, she kept doing her best to bend over in his presence and flash him her panties.

Only at night, when she “went home” did she ever connect with him. Only after she was gone would he come out of that shell sufficiently to reveal himself.

She became obsessed, cancelling nights out with the girls to stay late at the office and watch Daniel worshipping at her shrine. She became slightly braver in leaving traces for him, she would touch herself just before leaving for the night so that when he came out of his office, her seat would still be damp with her juices.

Then one evening, after a particularly wonderful orgasm on her chair thinking about him, she made a mistake. As usual, she stood watching from behind the pot plant as he came out of his office, her fingers slipping up under her skirt. But this time there were no panties underneath her skirt. Just her wet pussy, bare as bare could be.

It was something of a shock to see Daniel kneeling by her seat, picking up a small black item – black and lacy and saturated with her come. Oh God, they must have fallen off when she was bringing herself to that earth-shattering orgasm! She held her breath, burning with anxiety as her boss held up her underwear, looking around to see if there was anyone watching.

He did not see her, then seemed to relax, a distant smile on his face, and then he was pressing it to his mouth and nose, drawing in a deep breath. Gently rubbing that scrap of material against his face, that material that had been pressing up against her pussy all day, soaking up her juices as she thought of him penetrating her with his tongue, his fingers, his cock.

He was sitting on her chair, stroking himself through his pants, still pressing her panties to his nose. The image was so hot, she felt weak at the knees. And she decided enough was enough: she could not go on with this. It was time to take a risk – he wasn’t going to, that was sure. Someone needed to show some leadership here, and it wasn’t going to be her beautiful boss.

Sure, she might be sacked. But he couldn’t sack her with no compensation with the knowledge she had of him.

A ripple of adrenaline shot through her system as she realised she was going to make a move. Her heart was pounding like a bass drum in a rock ‘n’ roll band.

She stepped around the corner.

5

He didn’t see her at first, but then she did move round the corner like a ghost, silently, drifting along on a cushion of excitement and fear. Then he started, spotting her as she approached him, dropping the panties into his lap, his eyes fixed on her, wide, frightened like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Laura…” he said, his face pale, terror-stricken.

She did not reply, but continued to move, her face expressionless. She drifted close to him, between him and her desk, her behind nudging up against the polished maple wood as she came to a halt.

“I… uh…” he said, uncertain of what to say, but feeling obligated to say something. But who was in the wrong? Was she forbidden to return to the office once she had left? “Look…” he tried again, a bead of sweat trickling down his face, which was reddening now in humiliation.

Silent, he looked up at her now, like a frightened boy waiting for his punishment. She looked down upon him, controlling her lust, controlling her fear, maintaining a neutral expression. Hiding her surprise at how bold she was being.

She moved backwards slightly, shifting her weight so that she perched up on the desk in front of him. Her skirt rode up, of course, showing the bare skin above the tops of her black stockings. He said nothing, just watched. Not quite understanding why she was silent, why she wasn’t screaming blue murder at what she had found him doing.

Then she parted her legs, opening them slowly to reveal her bare pussy to him, her delicious boss. As her legs opened, his eyes widened.

She had lust in her eyes now, quite plain and clear for all to see. For a moment, she just sat there, butterflies fluttering around her stomach, while her vagina tingled at the thought that he was looking at her like this, in such a forbidden stance. And he could see that she was wet for him, he could smell her arousal, this time from the source.

He was waiting, he was going to wait forever. Although she was the secretary, he was the boss, she now felt that she had gained control. She was still nervous, nervous to the point at which she had to consciously stop herself trembling at times, but she had already taken a huge risk. It was time for another. She had to take full command.

“Lick me,” she said firmly. “Now.”

Her heart pounding, her breath short now, as she wondered how he would react to her order. This was an entirely new experience for her, it was such new territory.

Then he leaned forward slowly, stooping, his head moving towards her pussy. He was doing it! He was doing it! He was carrying out her order, he was…

“Ohh…” she groaned as his hot tongue coursed through her wet pussy lips.

Her arousal blossomed into a raw thrill as his face touched down against her most private place, the heat against her sensitive flesh so exquisite. There, between her thighs, his nose pressed gently to her small patch of dark pubic hair, he breathed in her scent, indulging in his proximity to her pussy, loving her feminine spice.

He moaned himself, one of those little low moans she found so sexy. Enjoying her.

She could have come several times over with him just being there, between her thighs. But she held onto it, she controlled herself as he began to feast upon her juices, his talented tongue squirming between her slippery labia, his hot mouth periodically enveloping her burning clit in his smouldering heat. Lapping up her juices, his beautiful face glistening with her moisture.

Oh god, it was so wonderful. The man she’d craved attention from ever since he’d interviewed her, now giving her more attention than she’d ever hoped possible. Her fingers running through his silky hair now while he gently chewed on her labia and nudged her clit with his nose.