DISCLAIMER: The following work is an homage to the writing of Literotica's TheTalkMan, an author whose writing I thoroughly enjoy and encourage you to check out. As such, this story is somewhat outside of my usual remit, and does not include either incest or mind control. It does, however, include such themes as, cheating, betrayal, cuckqueaning, some light femdom and reluctant sex. IF THESE THEMES ARE NOT TO YOUR LIKING, do not continue to read, or, if you do, don't complain that the story wasn't written to your liking. You have been forewarned.
Kristen was the only woman in the office with the audacity to wear leopard-print shoes to work, Martin knew that much for sure. Technically, they were boots, he supposed, not shoes, but they stood out from the corporate uniform like a sore thumb. With five-inch heels and a platform to boot, they raised the statuesque, frosted blonde to new heights; she paired them with some black skinny pants that appeared vacuum-sealed to those long, muscular legs and sweetly-curved behind, and a white blouse that she'd left open just enough to show off a healthy volume of cleavage and occasionally the upper edge of one of her bra-cups. If anyone dared to mention the tightness of her pants or the glimpse of her lacy bra, they'd get a withering look and a sharp tongue for their trouble, not to mention their calls would mysteriously fail to reach them.
Martin, to his credit, noticed neither the prodigious swell of her tits or the sweet peachiness of her behind; a married man of a whole two weeks, he only had eyes for his high school sweetheart and brand-new wife. So, while he'd heard murmurs among the cleaning staff and other guys in the offices next door about Kristen, he didn't see the big deal. He did notice her boots, though; they were too outstanding to ignore. He saw the bold pattern and the high heel and the gold charms swinging from the brass zipper -- tiny hearts, each imprinted with "mine."
As far as he was concerned, she was just the oldest woman in the office -- Martin had heard that she was pushing fifty, which seemed ancient to his 25 -- and at the same time, the newest secretary. His boss, a notorious tyrant in J. Jonah Jameson style, had been through three in the last year. Kristen had only started three or four weeks ago, but already Mr. Petersen seemed happier, so everybody was a little happier. Even his wife, Melody, seemed happier after he'd told her about Kristen. After a train of cute young girls had traipsed through the office, his loving, generous, kind -- if a little plain -- wife had relaxed visibly once she learned that the new secretary was almost as old as both of them put together!
"I'm telling you man, fucking prime MILF!"
"I don't believe you, Rodriguez. That shit doesn't happen outside of porn."
Martin didn't look up from the briefs on his desk. Sounded like a couple of the cleaners, coming in at the end of the day to empty the garbage.
"You go down there and look for yourself, man. Five bucks says you come back with a hard on!"
Martin coughed loudly. He really didn't want to hear this shit. Mostly what he wanted was to get home to his wife before it got late. He was already in the doghouse for postponing their honeymoon to finish up the Pauling project, but the trip they could take with the bonus he was looking at would more than make up for it. He checked his watch, then looked at the clock on the phone; he picked up the receiver, just to make sure it had a dial tone. Where the hell was Pauling, anyway? The weekly teleconf was scheduled for 4:30; it was almost 5!
One of the cleaners wandered past, pushing a mop bucket. He nodded to Martin. Martin looked back at his work. Down the hall, he could hear Kristen and the cleaner talking about something, then laughing. A few moments later, the cleaner passed his office door again. He nodded. Martin ignored him.
"Holy shit I owe you five bucks!"
"I know, right?"
"Fuck I've never seen tits like that!"
"Perfect fucking MILF tits, my friend."
"What do you mean? Tits are tits, yo."
"Fuck you. Don't you watch any MILF porn? Big ol' cougar tits are the way to go!"
"You'll have to hook me up after work."
"Damn straight, son. Nothing beats fat, creamy, beautiful MILF tits; except maybe a perfect, round MILF ass."
Martin tried to ignore them. Same damn thing every damn day. What was the big deal with MILFs, anyway? It seemed like every time he turned around, guys were all "MILF this" and "MILF that." He much preferred his young little wife: sure, sometimes she was a little reluctant about sex, and maybe she didn't always want to-- "Don't you two have anything better to do than stand around all day?" Kristen called out from the other end of the hall; embarrassed silence followed, then hushed whispers as they wheeled their buckets back out. Heels clacked sharply down the hall soon after. Her face appeared around the corner, a frosted blonde mane of loose silky curls bouncing around her features.
"They bugging you, Marty?" Some people in the office said she'd had work done, but there was sign of the tight, frozen features worn by folks who'd gone the way of Botox; a few stray lines around her eyes and mouth betrayed her age to some extent, but otherwise her skin was clear, almost translucent. Mischievous hazel eyes twinkled at him as plush, pink-glossed lips spread in a smile. Other guys in the office would stare, sometimes, not really sure what or how to address a beautiful older woman; Martin, thinking only of getting home to Melody, was too distracted to notice.
"No more than usual." He said. Nobody had called him "Marty" since he was fifteen; normally he'd object, but running against Kristen's iron will struck him as a bad idea. Who cared what she called him, so long as he could get out on time?
"Let me know if they do. I'll take care of ya." She winked at him. Martin blushed. Kristen was nice, so long as you stayed on her good side. This was true of all secretaries, but she'd been slightly nicer to him than the rest of the office. Every morning this week, he'd come in to find a steaming cup of coffee on his desk, made to order, without any input from him. Every now and again he'd find a candy or something sitting on his chair. Nothing weird, of course; she was probably just settling into the office and trying to make friends. They were both outsiders, after all; she had just come in from an outside department, and he had only started a few months beforehand. She was the oldest person in the office by (reportedly) a decade or so; he was the youngest by at least five years.
"Thanks, Kristen. I'm fine, no worries." He gave her a slightly disingenuous smile, feeling the minutes slip past, and knowing he'd have to rush to beat the traffic. Martin checked the message light on the phone again, just in case he'd missed a ring or something.
"You look pretty worried to me," she said, stepping into the doorway. "Anything I can do?"
"Are you gonna be here for a while?" He checked his watch again.
"Here til six, probably."
"Can you keep an eye out and text me if Emil Pauling calls? I've gotta get out of here."
"Heading home to the little woman?"
"Yeah. Do you mind?"
"Not a problem, Marty." Kristen winked at him.
"Thanks!" Martin practically leapt out of his chair, and hastily scribbled his number on a post-it. "Here's my cell. Don't tell Petersen you have it or he won't give me a minute's peace."
"He won't hear it from me. It'll be our little secret, I promise."
"Thanks, Kristen. I really appreciate this. I owe you one" Martin swept some papers hastily into his briefcase. "Nice kicks, by the way."
"Why thank you, Marty," she gushed. "Sucking up to me will get you everywhere."
Martin laughed. "Don't let Melody hear you say that. She gets kinda jealous."
"Sounds like somebody not as secure as she'd like to be." Kristen winked again. "It's our little secret. Have a good night, Marty."
"You too." He grabbed his case and his jacket, letting the jab at Melody slide. "See you tomorrow."
His phone didn't buzz on the way out of the building. It stayed silent on the drive home. There was nothing during dinner, or while he did the dishes, either. It wasn't until after he and Melody had curled up together on the couch Scrambling, he yanked his phone out of his pocket.
hey marty its kris
just fyi no call from pauling
Martin cursed under his breath. Pauling lived about four and a half hours to the east -- it was way late over there. There was no call coming tonight, which would mean a long day tomorrow trying to sort shit.
"You okay babe?" Melody asked; she was snuggled up comfortably in thick fleece PJs. Enormous stylized pigs leered out at him from the fabric.
"Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair. "This Pauling thing is gonna take longer than I expected, I think."
He thumbed a response to Kristen. Dammit. :-( Thanks. I appreciate the heads up Melody pouted and got off the couch. "We're never going to have a damn honeymoon at this rate." She walked away, towards the bedroom; Martin was about to follow when his phone buzzed again.
no prob bob
He stood up, turned to flick his phone on the couch and it went off again.
what u doing?
Nothing, just hanging out.
with the little lady?
.... There is more of this story ...