The year I turned 14 I got my first job. My father had died 5 years earlier, and mom had her hands full, providing for me and my sister. There was never enough money to go round, and a weekly allowance was out of the question. Not that I complained much. I loved my mom and my sister, and our family was a good place to grow up. So when the need for money turned up, a ticket to a movie, a fancy add-on for my bike, or whatever, I got myself a job every afternoon. 'Office messenger boy' I believe was the correct name for it, and it was at a local, medium sized toy factory. I was to hang out around Mrs. Jones' office, and be on alert to run papers, orders etc. to the different departments, plus the odd trip out of the house to banks, post office and the likes. Mrs. Jones was the boss' secretary, and a very kind and nice lady she was, somewhere around 40, I guessed.

In those days computers were new, and in the factory mostly used as text machines. But that spring they upgraded, brought in new computers for administration and all, and one day I asked Mrs. Jones if I could have one of the old computers in a corner of her office, so I could try to teach myself typing during the small breaks of 15 to 30 minutes, where I didn't have to run errands. She was most obliging, and even offered to make a little private corner in the store room adjacent to her office. There I was installed with an old computer, a chair, a small computer table, and a book with instructions in ten-finger typing. The kind lady even took a little time to show me how to get started.

For a couple of months I went through the endless 'asdfælkj', 'fgjh', 'dest', 'kilu' etc. and later on small silly sentences like: 'father is at home', 'three boys running wild'... but all in all I was progressing quite nicely. Time and again Mrs. Jones would check how far I had come and offer me small advice.

When school holidays started Mr. Petersen, that is the boss, asked me if I'd like to work full time during the holidays. As people were going on holidays he could use me here and there for various jobs, like sweeping floors, bring out waste, etc. I was only too happy to say yes, as we needed the money at home, and we had no plans (read: no money) to go on a holiday. But every afternoon I was back in Mrs. Jones' office doing what I was used to. At that time I had done a bit of complaining about the silly sentences from the book, and Mrs. Jones said: "Well, why don't you make some better ones yourself? Write a small story and then copy it two or three times for exercise, and then write another. Should give you just as much practice. Only remember: You are still not allowed to look at the keyboard." So that's what I did.

One day in the beginning of July I had written the start of a small story about the office, when the boss suddenly yelled: "Paul, for Heaven's sake. In here, hurry." He had forgotten to get some papers to the tax-authorities, and they had to be there before closing time - which gave me 10 minutes - barely possible. Pedalling like Eddie Mercxx I managed to get them delivered, which brought me praise from the boss and Mrs. Jones when I returned. And a strange smile from Mrs. Jones on top of it, but I got the explanation of that, less than a minute later.

When I returned to my little cubicle to resume typing, I blushed all over and was embarrassed no end. I had been in such a rush to answer Mr. Petersen's call, that I had forgotten to close down the text I had been writing: Some stupid sentences about the boss, plus the last one:... and his secretary is so beautiful, and she smells so good I can hardly think when she...

Phew ! Sure, I had a lusty crush on Mrs. Jones, but it was certainly not my intent that she should know. A beautiful, grown woman like her might be offended, being the target of a teenager's wet fantasies. From their offices I heard Mrs. Jones say: "I'll go help Paul a little with his typewriting. Be back in a minute."

"Oh, my God," I thought. "Here it comes." I steeled myself in preparation of a mighty scolding, and then just the opposite happened.

"Well, well, I have to say. Is it true that you find my smell exciting?"

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Jones. I never intended for you to see that. Please don't be angry with me."

"But I'm not, dear boy, it is kind of a compliment to an old lady, isn't it?"

"You're not old, Mrs. Jones, but yes, it was meant as a compliment. I really like the way you look and smell."

"All right, you flatterer. And what is it about my smell that you like so much, that you confide in a computer?"

"I don't really know. Is it your perfume or is it your skin, or is it a mix of the two? All I know is, that when I'm at home I just have to close my eyes, and I can almost see you and smell you from apart."

"What a nice thing to say, Paul. Maybe I should give you a chance to smell a little closer?" She leaned into me from behind, and her breasts touched my shoulders ever so slightly for a second, while her lovely smell enveloped me like cloud seven. And then she was gone! I was in a turmoil of emotions. Relieved that I didn't get a scolding, and excited beyond belief, that she had allowed her pretty breasts to touch me - deliberately. Enough to fuel my masturbatory fantasies for quite some time.

Over the next week I really had trouble. I could not figure out if it was a delusion, or if Mrs. Jones really did take extra care, and applied just a little touch more of her perfume, and wear shirts that showed a little more of her breasts. But I was soon to find out.

The 'industrial holiday' came up, meaning that practically all industries closed down for three weeks. Only a very small emergency staff stayed on in offices around the country to handle emergency orders, and in our case it was Mrs. Jones and I who were to stay in administration, plus two or three people in stores and shipping, while the rest of personnel, including Mr. Petersen, went off. Three glorious weeks alone with the target of my wet dreams, and not much work to do on top of it.

That first Monday showed me I had not been imagining things. Mrs. Jones came to work in a most alluring white shirt. It was quite thin in the material, and it was easy to see her bra through it, and as the bra was a flimsy thing, too, I could even discern the slightly darker areas of her nipples. I had never seen her wear anything that revealing, and on top of it she opened one, and later two, of the buttons, to give me a most exciting peek to her treasures. I felt like the proverbial little pig, mesmerised by a snake's stare. While she was explaining the routine of the next three weeks to me, I was lost. All my attention was directed towards her cleavage, and when she asked me a question I didn't even hear it, which made her smile. When we were doing the few things we had to do on that first day, she invariably would stand a lot closer to me, so her smells could reach me and dull my brain. I was so obvious that she must have had quite some fun playing me like that. As we were leaving in the afternoon she came up to me to say goodbye - closer than usual again, and then she killed me: "Well, Paul, did you have fun looking at me like that all day?"

I turned blushingly red in my face. "Ohh, ahh, Mrs, Jones, I didn't mean to offend you, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Paul, it's ok with me. You can look, if you want. And while we are only the two of us here, you can call me Helen, all right?" I don't even remember if I answered that, but I was floating on air as I walked down to my bike, and I hardly slept that night.

Tuesday started hot and sunny, and even my light shorts and a T-shirt felt warm on the ride to work. But nothing compared to the heat Mrs. Jones, ahh, Helen, generated in me, when she turned up, all dressed in white. A thin, white blouse with a rounded cut out, held together by a string, tied on her shoulders, a flimsy bra underneath, and a killer skirt. An innocent looking long skirt, almost to her feet, but whenever she was back lighted by the sun, pouring in through the windows, the thin gauze-like material became totally transparent and revealed her long, slim legs from foot to her rounded hips. I was so infatuated that I was sure she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I behaved like a dazed nitwit. My mouth was dry, my hands were shaking, and my cock stirred in my shorts and gave me in.

"I see you like my new skirt," she said while she smiled her sweet smile to me. "You know, I put it on for you, today, so you can look all you want."

"You look so beautiful, Helen, I don't know what to say."

"So you don't think it's too thin?"

"Oh, my God no. Your legs look so pretty through it that I can hardly think of anything else."

"You sweet boy. I don't know why, but I love it when you look at me that way. Does it make you want to touch them?"

"You bet. Nothing I'd love better, Helen."

"Have you ever touched a woman's legs before, Paul?"

"No, never."

"Well." She stepped up closer to me, as I was sitting on my chair. "Then I should feel honoured to let you touch mine, them being your first?"

"You're teasing me, Mrs. Jones."

"It's still Helen, and no, I'm not teasing you." She stepped up to me real close, and at the same time she lifted the hem of her long skirt up beyond her knees. "Touch them, then," she whispered.

Slowly, as if by a will of their own, my hands reached out and touched her knees. I was all dizzy with lust, and her skin felt like soft velvet to my palms. I slid my hands up and down on the outside of her thighs for a little while. Then she moved her left foot a little to the side. Funny how little details stick in your memory. I'm dead sure it was her left foot. "You can touch the insides too, if you want."

I slipped my hands round to the insides of her thighs, and brushed the back of my hands up and down a little. Then I found out, that if I crossed my arms I could touch both of them with my palms. With every move I got a little bolder, and after a minute my hand for the first time touched her crotch. My God, I was shaking all over, and her hot pussy burned through her damp panties into my hand. At the time I had no idea what the dampness signified, I only knew that this must be Heaven. Helen was standing very quiet in front of me, looking down at me. When I touched her pussy she leaned forward and took my head between her hands and pressed it against her breasts. Then she stepped backwards away from me and said, "There, Paul, now you have touched them. But we have better stop for now, there are other people in the buildings. Maybe later today I'll let you touch them again. OK? Did you like it?"

I had so much trouble getting the 'yes' over my lips, that Helen giggled at me and said: "Yes, I think you did. And now I've better give you some work to take your mind elsewhere. We have two orders today. Will you go to the storeroom and pack them, and later take them to the post office and get them sent?"

"Yes, of course, Helen." It was as if the magic spell was broken, and I was back to normal life.

At four o'clock the few people working were to leave, while Helen and I had to keep phones open until 5. Fortunately nobody rang, because at five past four Helen stepped up to me again. "Have you been waiting to touch my legs again?"

"I have hardly thought of anything else, Helen. It was so exciting."

"Well, we are alone now, so I've better give you another chance, haven't I? Do you want to?"

"Oh, that would be great." And again she lifted the hem of her long skirt and stepped up to stand in front of me with her legs a little apart. I was shaking all over, as my hands roamed her lovely legs and hips. Insides and outsides, crotch and bum. God, it was wonderful to push my hand tight against the wet gusset of her panties, a wetness I still had no idea about. By then she had hitched up the hem of her skirt and tucked it into the waistband and I was treated not only to the feel, but also the sight and smell of her legs and hips. Suddenly she stepped back a little.

"This feels great, Paul. Would it be OK if I touched your legs as well?"

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Jo... Helen. I'd love that." I made ready to get up and stand in front of her, like she had done to me, but she took my hand and led me through to Mr. Petersen's office, where she sat down in the sofa with me standing in front of her.

"You ARE sure, that it's OK for me to touch you?"

"Of course, Mrs... Helen. I really want it."

"And you don't think I'm too old to touch you this way?" While she said this, her hand travelled from my knee up the inside of my thigh.

"I think you are lovely, Helen, and this is very, very exciting. I never tried anything like it."

Her touch was so electric, that my cock got even more hard than it already was. It was poking against my shorts, making a tent out of them. Her hands were now on my hips, and one of then went in front of me and touched my cock.

"Isn't this very uncomfortable? Don't you think we should let him loose?"

My mouth was dry like Sahara and I couldn't utter a word. Instead I reached for my belt to open it, but Helen beat me to it. "Just leave it to me, Paul. I know what to do, and today I'll do it." In an instant my shorts and my pants were at my feet, and Helen had closed her hand around my cock. I had masturbated hundreds of times, but not even my best come that way, was halfway as exciting as Helen's touch. She moved her hand slowly back and forth, and suddenly she lifted her head and looked me straight in the eyes. "Do you like this?"

I moaned something which was supposed to be a yes. Through my veiled eyes she looked like a fairy, all glittery and diffused, and the smells emanating from her was so strong and delicious.

"Tell me when you are going to come, Paul. We don't want it to spurt all over the office."

How on earth could she know that I was so close? I had to warn her, and I croaked: "I'm... I think... I'm..." God it was so good. My head was spinning and my whole body was on fire. I couldn't help but pushing my pelvis forwards, and suddenly I felt something warm and wet round the head of my cock. I opened my eyes and looked down. Helen had leaned forward and taken the tip of my cock in her mouth.