Perfume Bottle

He seemed serious. I sighed and sat down on one of the visitor's chairs next to the desk and went over the whole thing, explaining about the accident and not wanting to be fired and his mother hitting on the idea of getting the table tennis bat to paddle me.

"What I didn't expect was for you to walk in and take indecent advantage of a poor girl in an unhappy situation," I finished.

He just smirked at that.

"OK. I can understand your reasoning. Mother can be pretty dogmatic if she wants a servant discharged. It doesn't happen often and usually she has a good reason for it. Being fired for an accident would have been a bit over the top. She didn't seriously hurt you?"

"No, sir. It was as I expected. She's not very strong and she tires easily. You really should try to persuade her to exercise more. It will do her good."

"Well, I'll have a word with Mrs Adams to keep you out of my mother's sight for a while. I won't tell her why."

"No need, sir. I've already explained the situation to her. Once she stopped laughing at me she agreed to vary my duties for a couple of weeks."

"Very good. And do you think you can stop calling me sir every time you open your mouth?"

"Yes, sir," I agreed, and got a nasty look from him.

"So we can put this little incident behind us but there are a couple of little things I need to clarify."

I looked at him, suspicious.

"Would you be prepared to accept a spanking from me rather than being fired?" he asked, completely ignoring the fact that he was being totally outrageous.

"Not even in your dreams," I told him, ignoring the flicker of heat that surged through me at the thought of his hands on me. Damn it, I could still remember his hand trailing across my pussy earlier.

"Pity," he said softly, and his eyes were looking right through my clothes again. One thing positive for the maid's uniform. No-one could see if our nipples prickled and stood out. The uniform stopped that sort of thing cold. So why did I have the distinct impression that he was looking at my nipples as they surged forward.

"The other thing is I really should have some sort of evidence that it was you with my mother. You might be covering for someone."

Oh, right, and who would I be covering for.

"Covering for who, exactly?" I asked.

I stared at him, just daring him to say Marie. If he did I was going to slap him and the hell with my job.

"Good point," he said, seeing the trap. "However, I did notice a little birthmark when I saw you. Just show me that and I'll be sure."

"Birthmark?" I asked. I didn't have any birthmarks.

"Ah. You may not be aware of it. It's not in a position where you would notice it."

On my bottom or somewhere in that vicinity, I guess, and he expected me to show him. My vagina clenched at the thought of him examining me down there and I felt another surge of heat.

"Then I'm happy to remain ignorant of it and have no intention of showing it off. Your prurient interest will have to go unsatisfied."

"Pity," he said again, and the damn man was laughing at me.

"Is there anything else, sir," I asked.

"Yes, there is. I want to take off those damn maid's panties and touch you again."

I blinked. He hadn't said that, had he? Yes, he had.

"I assume my continued employment is subject to this," I observed quietly.

"You assume wrongly," he said, just as quietly. "This is strictly me, talking to you. You know damn well I've been wanting to touch you ever since you started work here."

"The way you touched me upstairs?" I asked, bristling.

"That was a mistake. Instead of leaving the room I should have sent my mother out of the room."

He left the rest to my imagination but his hot eyes were telling me what would have happened. I had to force myself not to wriggle uncomfortably. I was starting to feel a little over-warm, especially in some sensitive areas.

He arose from his chair and came around the desk, settling down onto the chair next to mine.

"Stand up," he said, speaking very quietly.

It was plainly a request, not an order, which I considered rather unfair. I rose to my feet, standing in front of him. He didn't hesitate. He just reached up inside my skirt and took hold of my maid's panties and started drawing them down. I had time to protest. I could've just stepped back. Instead I just stood there, looking at him while he pulled them down. His eyes were on mine the whole time.

He pushed the pants down below my knees and let them go. Their own weight let them drop to my ankles. His hands travelled back up, slowly along the inside of my thigh.

I gave a snort of laughter. The look on his face when he touched my own lacy panties was priceless. Expecting to find soft female flesh and finding material instead.

"You didn't really think that any of us considered those bloomers to be real panties, did you?" I asked him. "We just wear them as modesty shorts."

He took a most unfair advantage of the situation. He scratched lightly against the lacy material and my eyes opened wide as the sensation of that scratching carried through and into me. I had to clamp my mouth tight to stop myself saying anything (and to stop any undignified gasps of appreciation).

It wasn't long before my panties joined the official panties down around my ankles. This time when his hands came sliding back up they found the soft flesh they were seeking and started stroking.

His fingers moved back and forth along my mound, teasing my lips. I could feel my mound swelling and getting hotter. Moisture was there and my lips seemed to be getting ever more sensitive to his touch. I could feel them flowering, opening out, seeking even greater contact. And all the time this was happening neither of us said a word.

I got a shock when he abruptly removed his hands and stood up. He calmly marched over to the door and locked it, then returned to stand in front of me.

I'll stop when you tell me to," he told me, "but not until then."

With that he started undressing me. He very quickly and efficiently took my clothes off, me just moving my arms about when required and stepping out of things when told to. The only time he slowed down was when he was taking my bra off. He loosened it, but then spent time stroking and tasting my breasts before he finished up taking it right off.

Isn't it amazing how hot you can feel even when you have no clothes on? I was standing there, beautifully naked, and I could feel the heat surging through me. And I was naked, not nude. Nude, you have no clothes on. Naked, you have no clothes on and you know you have no clothes on, and someone is watching you.

Now he stepped back and looked at me, and I could feel the heat coursing through me, accentuated by the touch of his eyes.

I was naked and he was getting that way. He calmly stripped, his eyes on me the entire time. He didn't just take off his trousers. He stripped completely until we were both standing their naked and loving it.

He pulled me up against me and kissed me, holding me firmly against his body so I could feel him against me. There again, he could feel me pressing against him, my breasts softly crushed against his chest.

He took a step back, holding me at arm's length for a moment, his eyes running up and down. His eyes flicked to one side of the office where a couch lay. Then he looked back at me and shook his head. With that he backed me up against his desk. For some reason that seemed more satisfying, the desk seeming much more personal than the couch.

I was leaning back slightly, letting the desk prop me up. He stood in front of me, eyes eating me. He reached out and cupped my breasts, then lifted them and let them drop, watching them bounce. He laughed when I glared at him.

"I was thinking about doing that earlier when you came bouncing up the stairs," he told me.

"I know you were. I was thinking of you doing it when I was dusting. That's what cost your mother her perfume."

He laughed again, and I had to join in.

Then his laughter faded and I knew the time had come. He moved closer, but I didn't look down. I didn't need to. I knew what was about to happen. I just stared at him, feeling him touching me, easing my lips apart, pressing his erection into me.

There was no finesse. Neither of us needed it. His cock moved into position and just swept into me, moving smoothly down my passage while I pressed urgently forward to meet him. We both seemed to give sighs of relief as we finally came together. This wasn't something that had just happened today; it had been building up for a long time.

We stayed like that for a few moments, him deep inside me, me accepting and holding him. Then, by some unspoken signal we began to move. We started slowly, just coming casually together, adjusting to each other, each learning about the other.

Gradually we moved faster, more confident of ourselves and how we were coping. It wasn't long before we fell into a mutually satisfying rhythm, quite content for this first time to just move together.

Contentment wasn't what we wanted, though. All very nice in its place, but lustful passion was what was rising in our blood. John started moving faster, and I responded eagerly. (Yes, John. I couldn't think of him as Mr Branson while he was making love to me.)

Oh, yes. This was fine. Contentment is well and good but passion beats it hands down. John was making long, hard, full-blooded strokes, driving in fiercely and I was clinging to him and responding, pushing urgently to meet him. Happy excitement was flooding through me, singing through my veins, lifting me with every stroke John made.

I was almost sobbing with eagerness and urgency, goading him to take me, take me hard, and not to stop.

I couldn't handle what was happening. It was all too much and I was losing control. John seemed to sense this and took steps to see how much control he could make me lose. Oh, god, I couldn't scream. Not here, in his office. I buried my face against his neck, biting him.

That bite seemed enough to send him over the edge. He gave a yelp and jerked, and then jerked again as he climaxed, finally pushing me over the edge, letting me succumb to the waves of pleasure rolling over me.

I found out something new today. It turned out that John has a little en suite attached to his office. Sometimes he can't be bothered going upstairs when he needs to freshen up. It's easier to just step into the en suite. I fully agree with that.

I've just been to see Mrs Adams. She's worked out a new roster for me. Part of that new roster means I have to clean John's study each day. Things could get a little interesting around here in the near future.