The Typist
I wrote this one in 2009, and I'm afraid technology has rather overtaken it with all these mobile apps offering book-keeping and tax services online. Just think of it as a 'period' piece, a story that was, 'of its time.'
She picked up the phone on its second ring, professionalism and efficiency in her voice, 'Good Morning, Annabelle's secretarial services.'
'Good morning Annabelle, it's Paul Davis here. I'm just calling to see how the work is progressing. The deadline for publication's been changed, and I need it as soon as possible. Is there any chance of getting it today?'
'Yes,' she replied, 'that'll be okay, I'm working on it now. It should be ready about four o' clock this afternoon. I'll send it by first class post - which means you should get it tomorrow morning.'
'No, don't post it. I'll call round and collect it about four thirty if that's all right with you?'
'Yes, that's fine, I'll see you about four thirty then, 'bye,' and she replaced the phone on the receiver, hardly believing what she'd just heard. Call and collect it - at last she'd meet the mysterious Paul Davis face to face.
On being made redundant, Annabelle had started a small business service using her spare bedroom as, 'the office,' to cut down on overheads. She knew that most small businesses couldn't afford to employ full time secretarial staff, but didn't want to appear, 'amateur,' to their clients. The professional presentation, and expertise of, 'Annabelle's Secretarial Services,' was the answer, and soon she was in great demand. She had been recommended to Paul Davis, by a mutual business acquaintance, and had started typing his manuscripts about a year ago. Until today, all contact had been by telephone or post.
Sitting at the keyboard of her word processor, Annabelle found it difficult to concentrate on her work. The problem was double edged; the prospect of meeting the author, and the nature of the piece she was working on. She always found it difficult to concentrate when typing his work. She made a supreme effort to keep her mind on the job at hand, telling herself if she didn't he'd be here to collect it and she'd never be finished in time.
He wrote short stories for erotic magazines and journals, and Annabelle had to admit to herself, from day one, that she found his stories exciting. Often, when typing some highly descriptive passage, she would become aware of that familiar, "butterfly," feeling in her stomach, and then a sudden hot wetness between her legs. She would start to squirm around restlessly in her chair, and usually ended up touching herself to relieve the irrepressible sensations in her pussy.
As she typed, trying hard to concentrate, the story became steadily more explicit, the situations and descriptive passages ever more erotic. Annabelle, despite her resolve to concentrate, felt her excitement building higher in pace with the story. Her nipples were tingling with excitement, and she couldn't resist the temptation to squeeze them from time to time. Eventually she couldn't resist any longer, and getting up from her desk, went through to the bedroom.
She studied herself in the full length mirror for a moment or two. 'Annabelle, you're such a horny cow,' she told herself out loud, as she pushed her skirt up to reveal long shapely legs. She hurriedly pulled down her tights and panties, and kicking off her shoes, removed the flimsy underwear entirely. Looking at her reflection she saw a tall, attractive woman, with dark, shoulder length hair. She was proud of her figure; slim, but with soft womanly curves. Her breasts were big without being too big, and as she opened her blouse and squeezed them through the bra, they felt heavy, but tender and very responsive.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the skirt up to her waist, and looked at her reflection again. She squeezed her nipples with one hand, and watched as her other hand stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs. Her skin felt so very sensitive! Spreading her legs wider, she could see the pink folds of her labia, and her clitoris protruding from its usual hiding place. Her dark pussy hair was trimmed very short, for she loved looking at herself in the mirror, and the normal luxuriant growth, if left to its own devices, concealed what she liked to see.
'Mmm,' she moaned breathlessly, as she watched and felt her middle finger part the wet silky folds of her sex. The penetration of her finger released a further copious flood of juice, and Annabelle sensuously smeared it over her lips and clitoris. She pulled her lips apart, using both hands, the stretching sensation so pleasant, and looked at her blatant pose in the mirror. 'Maybe I should pose like this for magazines,' she said to herself, and the thought of exposing herself like this publicly, instead of privately, was strangely exciting to her. She grew even more excited as she imagined herself posing, legs wide apart, her big tits exposed, and being seen by thousands of horny men and women. She frantically rubbed her pussy, peaking in a delicious and powerful orgasm as she rubbed and circled her clitoris with slippery fingers.
Seated back at her desk, she began to type again, and made better progress now, although she could still feel some small residual sexual tension in the pit of her stomach. Her excitement began to rise again as the story developed. She tried to ignore it, but despite herself, she was aware that her pussy, already wet, was growing wetter still.
