Teasing Old Donald
Copyright© 2026 by AnnaTartyWife
Chapter 2
The day after that first electric time with old Donald, our phone rang while I was in the kitchen, Mike lounging nearby with his coffee.
Mike answered, and I immediately knew who it was, not sure how, but my intuition kicked straight in, and my pussy tingled.
‘Oh, hey, yeah, she’s right here. Something about that filing job? Absolutely, Donald, I’m sure she would love it too,’ he handed me the phone without a second thought, turning back to his screen, completely missing the undercurrent. I took it, stepping into the hallway for ‘privacy,’ my pulse quickening already.
‘Anna, it’s Donald,’ he said, his tone dropping lower, laced with that gravelly hint of yesterday’s heat. ‘Been thinking about you since you left. Those files are waiting, but so am I.’
I bit my lip, leaning against the wall, imagining his eyes on me. I whispered, ‘Missed me that much? Bet you couldn’t stop picturing my arse in that skirt.’
He chuckled, deep and rough. ‘Damn right. But tomorrow, I want you dressed to kill. Something slutty—short skirt, the kind that shows off those legs. No bra, make those tits bounce for me. And heels, real high ones if possible? Ones that scream ‘fuck me’ with every step.’
His more dominant words sent a shiver straight to my core, my free hand absently tracing my thigh. ‘Demanding, aren’t you? What if I show up in something that barely covers my pussy, tights so sheer you see everything?’
He groaned softly. ‘That’s the idea, girl. Tease me with it while you file—bend over, flash me. Make my cock hard just watching you work like a dirty secretary.’
We bantered back and forth, innuendos flying: him talking about ‘handling my heavy loads’ of paperwork, me countering with how I’d ‘sort his files deep and thorough.’
Mike wandered by once, raising an eyebrow, but I just smiled innocently. ‘Yeah, Donald, I’ll handle everything you need tomorrow. Promise it’ll be tight and satisfying.’ By the time we hung up, my panties were fucking soaking wet, and I knew Mike was clueless to the real ‘job’ ahead.
The next morning dawned with a thrill buzzing through my veins, the memory of that flirty call fuelling every move. Mike had left early for work, oblivious as always, and I savoured the quiet to prepare.
Frank had texted me late last night, his message crude and encouraging: ‘Bet that old man’s cock twitched all night thinking of your ass in that skirt. Go make him beg for it today.’ His words fueled the fire, and I dressed with even more intent.
Donald’s demands echoed loudest.
I slipped into the tiniest black mini skirt, so short it hugged my hips and ended just below the curve of my arse—the hem barely grazing the tops of my thighs, exposing the darker gusset of my tights even as I stood straight, the thigh bands peeking out like a naughty secret.
No panties, of course; my bare pussy pressed against the sheer nylon, already warming at the exposure. I rolled on those seamed black tights, the material whispering up my legs, clinging from toes to waist, the crotch gusset darkening slightly from my growing arousal. The white blouse was next; I went bra-less, my heavy tits swinging free, nipples poking through the thin cotton, the neckline gaping with every breath. For the heels, I chose strappy red stilettos, the thin leather straps winding around my ankles like bindings, forcing my calves to flex and my ass to sway with each step. They added inches, making the skirt ride even higher, turning every movement into a tease.
I threw on a long trench coat, belting it tight over my slutty ensemble, the hem brushing my knees like a demure veil hiding the whore beneath.
I drove to Donald’s bungalow with my heart pounding, the heels clicking on the pedals, the short skirt hiked up so the tights’ gusset rubbed directly against my slick cunt folds. The short skirt had hiked up completely, the tights stretched taut over my exposed ass cheeks against the leather. By the time I pulled into his driveway, my cunt was throbbing, dampness soaking into the nylon crotch.
He opened the door quickly, eyes hungry. ‘Anna, punctual as ever,’ he rasped, letting me in. The door shut, and I faced him, fingers unbelted the coat. ‘Ready for your demands?’ I purred, shrugging it off to pool at my feet.
His gaze devoured me—the mini skirt so brief the gusset shadowed between my thighs even standing, tights gleaming, blouse straining over my bra-less tits, and those red heels making my legs look endless and fuckable.
‘Holy fuck,’ he muttered, face flushing, hand adjusting his slacks where his cock tented. ‘You did it—dressed like a total slut just for me. That skirt’s obscene; I can see the crotch of your tights from here, bet your pussy’s bare underneath. And those heels ... shit, they make your arse pop, legs begging to be spread.’ His obsession with my outfit hit like fire, clit pulsing. I closed the gap, pressing against him, feeling his hardness.
‘All for you, Donald. Now kiss me like you mean it.’ Our mouths crashed, tongues dueling wetly, his hands everywhere—one squeezing my ass, flipping the skirt up to trace the gusset over my lips; the other shoving into my blouse to maul a tit, pinching the nipple.
I ground my hips, the tights’ fabric slick with my wetness. ‘Soaked already, you filthy tease,’ he growled, breaking for air. ‘Love seeing you like this—short skirt flashing your gusset, tits free and nipples hard, heels strutting like a whore. Get to the study before I fuck you against the wall.’
The study hummed with tension as we entered, more files piled high—’90s letters, contracts, and now, tucked in drawers, something filthier.
I started filing, moving deliberately slow in the heels, the click-clack echoing my seduction. Reaching high, I tiptoed, skirt riding up to bare my ass cheeks, gusset fully visible, outlining my swollen pussy. I wiggled, nylon shifting over my folds. ‘These old deals are intense,’ I said, glancing back. ‘Like how you’d deal with my arse. You want to slap it red?’ He shifted in his chair, rubbing his bulge. ‘Keep bending, slut. That tiny skirt shows everything; your tights’ crotch is dark with juice. Fuck, those heels make you look ready to be tied down and pounded.’
Squatting for a low file, knees wide, the skirt vanished, gusset stretched tight over my spread lips, heels digging into the carpet.
Then, pulling open a drawer, I hit the hidden jackpot: hardcore porn mags, covers blaring spanking and bondage—women bound in ropes, asses striped red from paddles, gags and cuffs galore. I flipped one open, feigning surprise but smirking. ‘Well, well, Donald. Filing your secrets? These girls tied up, getting their asses whipped ... turns you on, huh? Bet you’d love me in those straps, skirt up, heels on while you spank my bare cheeks through the tights.’
His eyes darkened, cock straining. ‘Caught me. Yeah, I love that stuff, always did—bondage, spanking a tight bum like yours. Seeing you dressed slutty, flashing that gusset, makes me want to tie you to the desk and mark you.’
I held up a page, a bound woman sucking cock, and traced my finger over it. ‘Like this? Me on my knees, heels strapped, skirt hiked, mouth full while you paddle me? Filthy old man.’ The find amped the tease, my cunt clenching as I filed slower, ‘accidentally’ dropping the mag so I bent deep to retrieve it, ass out, heels spreading my stance, gusset damp and detailed.