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How I write naked and masturbate about my brilliant affair.
As usual, I awoke just after seven naked and alone in my king-sized bed. Stretching as I thought about the day ahead, I realised that it would most likely be the same as yesterday, the day before and tomorrow, I felt depressed. But then such a feeling was pretty common and was becoming the norm for many during April 2020. The first lockdown had been decreed a few weeks earlier and was just beginning to bite.
Most shops were shut, pubs and restaurants were closed, we couldn’t go to work or meet friends. Life was awful, but it was necessary.
Having just separated from my husband of nearly twenty-five-years, it was an interesting time for both of us. Recently, our son had moved to Dubai to work and our daughter had started studying law at a university some 150 miles from where I now lived. My near ex as I called him stayed in what had been the marital home in Essex and I moved into our investment apartment in London Docklands.
The split was amicable. Both of us just no longer wanted to be married and, before it was too late, wanted to savour being single again. I was 49 and Kevin was 55. We had a broad agreement that if after ten years we were both single, we’d get back together again!
So, we had it all worked out and everything was set up for us. But then, of course, bloody covid hit and, as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men were completely fucked up.
After showering and cleaning my teeth I slipped into a pair of panties, made some tea and ambled into my study, mug in hand. I fired up the PC, went into the cloud, accessed the folder ‘my stories’ and opened up the story I was currently writing. There were a few pages of description of him and me, how our relationship had developed so far and a little background on both of us and then onto how our affair started.
I had been attracted to my boss since starting at the marketing agency, in fact I thought he was gorgeous, but I hadn’t in my wildest dreams expected anything to happen.’
In some ways I guess it was a classic office romance, a predictable work colleagues’ affair. But to me it was not that, as time went on it became more, much more. I think he could well have been the true love of my life and I feel I was that to him.
Patrick was one of the directors and he was my boss. He was just older than me, nearly fifty and lived in an upscale North London suburb which was just a few miles from where I lived. He too was married with two children. His wife was known in the office and didn’t seem to be liked. She was heavily into politics and was a local Tory party councillor, but was trying to get adopted for a parliamentary seat in Kent so she was away from home quite a lot. As he and I got to know each, many other similarities emerged.
I suppose it developed and followed a fairly predictable path.
We worked closely together, probably closer than was really necessary.
We had to attend meetings together, both in the office and at clients’ premises, most of which were in London, but some were round the country; we usually travelled together.
We got to know each other, we talked of many things including our personal lives, which I soon learned were dangerous discussion topics.
We started to work late together, we had lunches, sometimes with clients, but more often just the two of us, ostensibly to discuss work.
We had drinks after work, just the two of us, he gave me lifts to the station and then.
“Maybe we could have dinner one night Jayne, perhaps when we are both at a loose end having been partner dumped?” he asked one day
As I sat in front of my PC creating this, partially true, story I could feel the arousal building up in me. Describing the beginnings of the affair made me feel warmer. That started in the pit of my stomach and was spreading out through my body filling my breasts which felt so full and heavy. My nipples were pounding and my thighs were trembling.
I knew that the writing was doing its job and was going to work. Also, I knew that being almost naked was the wise choice.
I continued writing the story that I had entitled, A Working Affair.
Staying late at the office, mild flirting, lifts to the station, the odd drink after work even lunch are all part of work. Yes, they may be extensions of it and they may bring the participants closer together, but they can always be viewed as work; they are usually in work time so they can be justified as that. Dinner is different. It’s out of work hours, it isn’t part of the working day, it intrudes on one’s personal time and cannot really be justified. I could no more say to Kevin that I was going to dinner with Patrick my boss than Patrick could say to his shrew of a wife that he was taking me out. You can wrap it up how you will but dinner, even between work colleagues is a date, it’s as simple as that. But rather than say ‘come on a date’ we use the euphemism ‘let’s have dinner.’ We both knew, though, exactly what it bahis şirketleri is and what was going on; after all we were both grown-ups! Patrick was trying to extend our relationship, take it beyond work, mould it into friendship or more, he was extending a guarded invitation to me to go out with him. Yes, Patrick was inviting me to take another step along the intimacy trail. I strode out with little hesitation on that road to be fucked.
“Yes, that would be nice,” was my hesitant reply.
It didn’t go anywhere. We got on well, we chatted easily, we found out lots about each other, but it ended when he dropped me at Liverpool Street Station and I got the tube home. I think we were both too nervous and concerned that we would do something to upset the other. I certainly, and I suspect Patrick as well, was also relieved; starting an affair is a big step, a huge responsibility and a massive guilt trip.
I stopped composing and typing for a while to gather my thoughts on what actually happened. I checked the time and saw that it was only seven-forty meaning that I’d been working on the story for nearly half an hour, fifty percent of my target daily total.
I felt good. Slightly, but not yet massively aroused I had some lovely feelings running through my body and my guess as I was about to write about the start of the affair, was that I would masturbate.
I returned to my hobby and wrote
Whether I was trying to justify my feelings for Patrick and the potential affair or whether all the signs from Kevin were adding up to him being ‘at it’ again I’m not sure. But he was away and out more often, he had more ‘urgent’ trips and then yes, I did smell the ‘cheap’ perfume that bimbos wear, that is until he buys them Chanel. That convinced me he was up to something, but then ‘leopards never change their spots’ I thought feeling remarkably relaxed about the fact that my husband was fucking another woman!
Again, whether it was me ‘knowing’ that Kevin was up to his old tricks’ or some other force I don’t know, but I started feeling differently about Patrick. There was almost, or so it seemed, a correlation between the strength of my suspicions that my husband was shagging some little bitch and the strength of those feelings for Patrick.
I looked for him from my cubby hole as he walked round the large open plan office or I glanced into his glass walled office through the vertical blinds as I passed by, which I seemed to do more frequently. I looked forward to our daily meetings and to presenting stuff to him as just the two of us sat in his office with the door closed, sometimes our arms or legs touching. When he touched me, perhaps guiding me through a doorway before him, they were now more than mere touches, they felt like caresses. When he looked at me his stare became more than a glance in my direction it became a look of affectionate lust, I felt as if he was undressing me as, increasingly I was mentally hoping he would!
We had dinner again. This time when he dropped me at Liverpool Street Station he got out of the car, came round opened the door and stood there as I got out. He stared at me, put his hand on my shoulder and said.
“I have really enjoyed tonight, Jayne, thanks so much.”
He kissed me on my cheek. It was like an electric shock. We both just stood there a moment or two. Involuntarily I touched where he had kissed me with my fingertips, his hand was still resting on my shoulder. I whispered.
“So have I Patrick, thank you.”
And still neither of us moved. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder as he applied some pressure. Slowly, we closed the gap between us. He pressed his body against mine and buried his face in my shortish, blonde hair.
“Maybe Jayne, I have enjoyed it a little too much, if you know what I mean?” he said quietly, his hand running down my arm and resting on my hip.
I felt surprisingly calm. Although my heart was pounding and a heat was oozing through my body from the pit of my tummy to my breasts and nipples, I managed to hold on.
“Yes Patrick, yes I do,” I sighed as his hand found mine and held it.
“So, what would Ms West say if I gave her a proper kiss goodnight?” He surprisingly, but very welcomingly asked.
I didn’t reply, but instead I inclined my head slightly so we were looking at each other and let the expression in my eyes say what I was thinking as a reply. Well not exactly for right then my preferred reply would have been, ‘Yes kiss me, shove your tongue down my throat and rip my clothes off.’
Instead, I moulded into his arms and we kissed. It was long, loving and wonderful.
As I sat in my home office writing and thinking about what should come next, I could feel the familiar arousal building up. I knew that I was wet and that my nipples were hard and swollen. I touched them and loved the feeling that rushed through me as I looked forward to what was sure to happen soon.
I continued the story.
That night for the first time it was Patrick who fucked me, well in my mind bahis firmaları it was as I masturbated.
A week later, no less than that, neither of us could have waited a week.
We were in the office and found ourselves alone in the coffee room.
He blurted out. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the other evening Jayne.”
“I know,” I quickly replied.
“Was it ok?”
“I wasn’t out of order then?”
Then someone else came in.
‘We need to talk’ the email from Patrick said a short while later as I sat dreaming in my cubby hole.
‘Yes,’ I typed back.
‘Yes, I agree.’
‘I’m at meetings all afternoon, sod it.’
‘Hmmmmm,”‘ I replied, feeling excited as my arousal grew.
‘I’m in the car today, how about I give you a lift home?’
‘It’s so out of your way,’ I replied my heart pumping at the thought of the best part of an hour alone with him.
We talked a lot as we crawled through the East London traffic. My homel is almost due east of London whereas his is nearly due north, but both are about the same distance from Covent Garden. The route from where I lived at the time to his home is along the M25 and can take ages so I had insisted he drop me at a tube station on my way home, making it easier for him to get home. We agreed on Stratford where the Olympics had been held in 2012. In any case he and Marcia, the shrew, were entertaining that evening and Kevin was home, so we didn’t have too much time.
He pulled away from the station entrance into the semi darkness of the car park.
At that time of evening the tubes run every few minutes and it only takes twenty minutes or so to my stop so there was no rush, well at least on my part.
Patrick drove past the station and found a quiet, dark side road where he parked the large Merc.
“I have never felt like this Jayne,” he said half turning towards me and holding my hand. “Do you know what I mean?”
‘Do I know what he means? He’d only shagged me about six times so far and I had sucked his cock twice in my dreams.’
“Yes,” I replied quietly and demurely.
Trying to decide what happened in the car and just when he and I would have sex added considerably to my excitement and my ‘female juices’ were now in freefall and that told me that it was the right decision not to be naked but to wear panties!
Maybe for convenience, or was there an ulterior motive, I had a fairly large mirror on the wall to my left and at moments like this I could not resist looking at myself in it. My unbrushed, short blonde hair gave me a ‘just dragged through a hedge backwards’ look that was in keeping with the sordid, sexual nature of what I was doing. But then, of course, so were my bare, now double D cup boobs, the white, damp panties, naked legs and fingers gliding across my breasts.
But I had to stop. It wasn’t time yet. My body was ready, perhaps even more so, but my mind needed a little more tuning into the sexual ecstasy I was after.
As my tube train had rattled through where it is overground, my mobile bleeped.
‘Sorry babe, I’ll be late, urgent client thing. Keep it warm for me. K’
As Kevin rolled on top of me later that evening and I opened my legs to receive him, in my mind it was Patrick. As my husband entered me and kissed me it was the memory of Patrick’s lips on mine in that side road that so aroused me. And as my husband fucked me, quite nicely as he always does, it was the recall of Patrick touching my breasts that sent me over the top. I have often wondered what might have happened in that dark road after Patrick stroked and squeezed my breast if he and his wife hadn’t been entertaining an important, local politician that evening.
A few days later we had been to a client meeting and had to return to the office to collect stuff, Patrick for a trip he was making to Dublin the next day, me to collect my laptop for I wasn’t working in the office the next few days. It was just after eight and I knew everyone would have left.
I was wearing a black, lightweight wool, Donna Karan suit with a skirt. The jacket had four buttons up the front so there was no need to wear anything, other than a bra under it.
We were standing in his office, he pulled me to him. We kissed, very strongly. My mouth was wide open, our lips were squirming together and his tongue was plunging and delving. I was gasping and sighing with pleasure and delight. He found my breast and squeezed it with just the right amount of pressure. Our kissing became more urgent. I was ruffling the hair on the back of his neck and running my hand up and down his back as he thrust himself at me. He was stunningly hard. One hand was inside my jacket, on my breast, outside my bra, the other was squeezing and cupping my bum. That hand ran up my legs taking the skirt with it. He bunched it round my hips at the back and stroked and rubbed my bum through my black tights. My jacket had come undone and he had eased one of my boobs from my bra. He was slipping his fingers kaçak bahis siteleri inside my tights at the back, touching the top of my bare bum. It was very much mutual and I was playing my part. A few buttons on his shirt were undone, he’d removed his jacket earlier. As the sensations he was giving me from stroking the bare flesh of my boobs, pinching my nipples and now cupping the naked cheeks of my bum inside my tights increased, I was pressing, rubbing and holding his erection outside his trousers.
It was the act of him starting to push my tights down that got to me. I broke away.
“I’m sorry, I went too far.”
“It’s not that?”
“What is it?”
“Not here, not where we work, it’s too, I don’t know, sordid.”
“Yes, yes I understand,” he said cradling me in his arms again.
“It was ok then, I wasn’t out of line.”
“No,” I whispered, adding without really thinking “But somewhere else,” as I pulled my skirt down, and straightened that and the jacket.
“Yes of course, I understand.”
A week or so later, during which time we had been together hardly at all for Patrick was involved in board meetings and the annual budgets, Kevin was home and I was busy with open evenings at the children’s schools, Patrick called me into his office.
“RBS need us to go through that image research you recently wrote for them.”
One of my key jobs was to take the information produced by the boffin-like researchers and produce readable reports in relatively understandable English. Sometimes, I would then develop Powerpoint presentations that one of the Account people and occasionally if the client was big enough, Patrick himself, would present to them. The Royal Bank of Scotland was certainly big enough.
But you will have to come with me,” he said smiling as I stood in his office a few evenings later.
“OK no problem.”
He went serious and looked me in the eyes as he fiddled with the report I’d produced.
“Er, um, it could mean an overnight stay.”
I realised what he probably meant and I too became serious as the decision he was asking to make hit me.
“I see, really?”
“Well maybe we could get there and back in a day, but it might be a rush and that can be tiring, I’ve done it several times.”
“Will it just be you and me?”
“Maybe, but we’ll possibly need one of the geeks there just in case they have any of theirs and they want to start asking questions on the statistical validity of sample sizes and other such research bullshit.”
“Won’t that er, make things a little awkward?”
“Yes, it could, but would you come?”
That made me smile. “Well, that would have little to do with the geek would it?”
Patrick laughed, “I hope not, look I’ll fix something to get him or her out of our way, will you er, accompany me to Edinburgh.”
We both laughed.
This was getting serious. I had a big decision to make. If I went, I knew I’d sleep with him and that would take me along the unfaithfulness path! Did I want that? Could I handle the guilt, the lies and the excuses? Was this ‘goose and gander’ stuff worth it?
As I wrote that and my imagination thought about out the sex that would ensue, one of my hands involuntarily cupped one of my full breasts and the other slithered down my body and into my knickers.
Turning to the left I saw myself in the full-length mirror. For some ridiculous reason, my near nudity shocked me, which was crazy really as I had looked down at myself numerous times as I worked on my story. Nevertheless, my bare breasts with their beautifully swollen nipples and my hands fondling and cupping them, my slightly bulging mum tum, nicely shaped open thighs and my white, see-through panties showing the wet stains of my arousal all sort of shocked me. But the biggest shock or was it the biggest thrill was seeing my hands in my panties with the fingers clearly working to give me the slight stimulation my body required.
The combination of that hand and the other one doing such nice things to both of my breasts was enough. In fact, it was ample, perfect and just right to take me where I desperately wanted to go.
I flaunted myself at the wonderful mirror. I leaned forward making my boobs hang down and seem even larger than their double D size and I pinched and pulled my nipples making them longer and rounder than their normal prominence. As my arousal increased so I needed to squeeze harder the awesomely sensitive flesh of each tit.
Then I felt it. It was starting. The heat was building up around my cunt and beginning to spread throughout my body. My tits felt so full and heavy, my body was tingling everywhere.
But I didn’t want to cum, no, not just yet. So, I closed my legs removing the reflection of my lips in the soaked panties and moved my hand out of them. I turned back to the PC and went on with the story.
Dinner had gone well. We both got slightly tipsy and we exchanged confessions that we’d never done this before; I sort of let Craig, the young tennis coach slip from my memory, as I imagined my nearly fifty-year-old, awfully attractive, potential lover may have done with some of his likely earlier peccadilloes.
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