The Boss's Wife Ch. 01

I had been working as a junior architect at the firm of Robert Johnson and Co for about six months. My boss, Robert Johnson, frankly was a bit of an arsehole; a dictatorial bully, the kind of guy who seems to get off simply by ordering people around, lording it over his employees. Not that it bothered me. It was a good company with some good people doing the sorts of work that interested me -- and there was plenty of it. To be honest, this was a great opportunity for me, and one I had no intention of wasting on account of the boss being a pig of a man.

My career path hadn't exactly gone to plan since I graduated. Maybe it the fact that I was ambitious, or that I had a firm belief in the integrity of my ideas that wouldn't allow me to easily compromise, but I hadn't been able to hold down a job in the industry for more than about six months. I was fortunate that I had an uncle who had been an architect, now retired, because his guidance has been invaluable. He took me aside a year or so ago and gave me some advice. The gist of it was that yes, he could see I had talent, but I was still young and there was still a lot for me to learn even if I didn't think so. Talent is one thing, he told me, but commitment and reliability are important in a young architect, and the way I was going, chopping and changing between firms, I ran the risk of gaining a reputation for being difficult to work with. Find a decent firm, he advised, knuckle down and do what I was told, even if I didn't always enjoy it or agree with what they were doing, and try to stay there for at least a few years. Establish myself as a serious, reliable professional.

I took this advice when I got the job with Johnsons, and so far it seemed to be paying off. I mean, if I didn't like my boss, I at least wasn't alone -- many of the other architects straight out hated his guts. But like I said, this company had lots of exciting projects, and I was learning a lot working with some pretty talented guys. And after six months, I was starting to feel for the first time in my working life that I belonged somewhere. It was a good feeling.

I felt as though I had passed some kind of test when Johnson came into my office and berated me over an apartment block design I had worked on. 'Crap' and 'kindergarten stuff' were the kinds of words he used to describe my design of the swimming pool and gym area, but I just took the abuse in my stride -- even though I felt he was just finding faults as a matter of habit, as if to justify his own existence by pointing out what a bunch of fuckwits he's got working for him. What is it with these older guys? The other day he sacked a colleague, Ray, a brilliant guy who could design anything, simply because he didn't like the colours Ray had chosen for a staircase. Ray had done some very long hours on that project, and I guess he couldn't contain his frustration when Johnson started picking faults. When Ray tried to defend his work, Johnson just got more and more worked up until eventually he just showed him the door. It's just no way to treat people, especially good people like Ray.

But when Johnson began to get stuck into my gym design, I just sat there and took it in my stride. It felt quite liberating in a strange way to sit there while he ranted and raved -- I knew my work was good, even if he didn't, and his opinion didn't bother me on a personal level, because I didn't like him and didn't respect him. But I did want to keep working for him, so I was prepared to put up with his shit.

"Sorry about that, Robert. You're right, I see what you mean now," I said, thinking what a suckhole I'd become. "Don't worry, I will fix it as you suggest."

"Good," he barked. He got up to leave the room, but then he paused at the door.

"Oh David," he said, "are you free after work?"

"Um, yeah?" I replied.

"Good. I'd like you to drop round my house after work. I'm planning a renovation and I'd like a second opinion on some of my ideas."

"Um, yes, of course," I said, taken a little aback.

"Good. I'll expect you around six."

And then he walked out.

I was surprised that the old bastard would want my help with his own place. Especially as my gym design was 'crap'. Hanging out with that cranky old fool after hours was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew that if I said no I'd be pretty much kissing goodbye to my job. Still, I had to think of it as a compliment -- but, I thought to myself, I'd better be careful how many changes I suggest. He's just as likely to fire me on the spot for not appreciating the 'quality' of his work. Better hold my tongue, be diplomatic -- just like my old Uncle said.

Later that evening Robert greeted me at the door and showed me inside.

"Welcome, he said, "take a seat and I'll get you a drink. Beer?"

"Yes, thanks," I said. He was sounding uncharacteristically pleasant -- but then I could hear his wife milling about in the kitchen. I guess it wouldn't do to start yelling at your employees in your own home.

The house was something else. Large, as I'd expected, but thoroughly modern. You could clearly see the influence of the type of work we do in the clever use of open planned areas. To be honest, I couldn't see anything much I'd change at all. In fact, it had to be barely more than a year old, judging by some of the workmanship. I found it odd that he even wanted to renovate. I particularly liked the way they'd decorated it. Architecturally it was a thoroughly contemporary building, but it was fitted out with a bold selection of colours, predominantly white but with a lot of red and lime green furnishings. Often people fall into the trap of trying to make their new place look as cool as possible, because when you've already got a cool looking building it's very easy to go over the top with the furnishings and end up with a clashing mess of colours. But this was a really nice balance.

Soon Robert had returned with drinks. He handed me a beer and called out to his wife.

"Oh honey, come and meet David, one of my employees who's just dropped by."

Robert's wife soon appeared from around the corner of the kitchen wall. My God, I thought to myself: what a stunning looking woman Mrs Johnson was! Probably early 30s, but not an ounce of fat on her beautifully toned and slightly muscular body, which was on clear display under the skin-tight gym gear she was wearing: light blue lycra shorts and tight crop top, white. Yes, very nice, I thought to myself as I watched her walk towards us. She was cute too: short dark hair, a flashing, warm smile and lovely blue eyes; such a gorgeous face. Evidently she was off to the gym, and with a body like that she'd be the sort of chick you often see at the gym that just makes your day -- when you feel like thanking the Lord for providing the perfect female form upon which we can feast our eyes. I just had to wonder what a fine piece such as her was doing married to such an arsehole -- probably a trophy wife.

"Elizabeth," he said, "this is David."

"Nice to meet you, David," she replied.

I greeted her and she smiled. The kind of warm, gleaming white teeth smile that alternately either melts your heart or gives you hard on. Or both at the same time. For a moment I was almost mesmerized as she looked into my eyes.

"Come David," Robert said, "I'll show you around the place."

"Well, I'll leave you two guys to it," she said. "I'm off for my evening run. Nice to meet you, David."

Elizabeth sauntered off, and I watched her tight, muscular arse gently shift as she walked through the room, pausing to bend over to grab her keys. Such perfect legs...

"OK, honey, I'll just see you out," said Robert as he escorted his wife to the door. For a moment they stood at the door discussing something which I couldn't hear, and then she was gone.

Actually, I wondered to myself, that girl seemed familiar; as though I'd seen her before. Yes, I remembered -- I'd seen her in the office the other day, in Robert's office. I remember her now; she was dressed in a cream coloured business suit, jacket and tight-fitting skirt. I remember at the time thinking what a hot looking client he'd got, but in reality it was only his wife.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked. Such had been the impression his wife had made on me that for a minute I thought he was asking what I thought about his woman. Of course, he was talking about the house as we walked from the living room into a second opened area that seemed half office, half entertainment room. It was an impressive residence by any standard.

"Well, what do you think?" he said again.

"I think it's excellent. It's excellent as it is. I might have done the kitchen a little differently, but that would be all."

"Hmm," he said, almost grumbling. "I did the kitchen myself."

Damn, I thought. The last thing I wanted was to piss the guy off. Just make a few helpful suggestions, so that I at least seemed to know what I was talking about and had something to contribute, and then get the hell out of here. Damn it, why do office politics always have to be so difficult?

"Well," I said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, "there's nothing really wrong with it, but if you're asking, I would have tried to maximise the open area just here, and the join between the two rooms, to create a visual impression of a greater space."

"Yes, I can see what you mean," he said. "But I like it as it is."

We continued our tour of the house. Walking through into the 'office' area I spotted a photograph on the wall. It was of a woman in a kind of one-piece swim suit performing a backwards bending yoga pose in a beach. Clearly it had been professionally done, shot in a kind of soft focus that gave the scene a swirling, dreamlike effect. The woman in the picture looked magnificent. Like a Goddess.

"You like that?" he said.

"Er yes, it's an excellent photograph."

"That's my wife." There was an edge to the tone in his voice which I found unsettling. Damn, this was just going from bad to worse.

"Oh, er, is it? I didn't recognise her," I stammered, backpedaling.

"Stunning, isn't she?"

We were both looking at the picture. I felt impolite to turn away, but somehow also improper to be studying this somewhat intimate portrait of my employer's wife.

"Er, yes," I said, "she's a very attractive person."

"Yeah, but sexy, wouldn't you say?"

Oh great. Now I knew this was just another one of the vicious old bastard's mind games -- bating me into saying his wife is a sexy babe so he can take it out on me for insulting him and his woman. That's the kind of man he was. I would just have to play a straight bat and try to move the conversation back onto the renovation.

"She is attractive, yes."

"Don't you think she's hot?"

This was getting exasperating. I just knew this was going to end badly - there goes another job. But I battled on.

"Robert, I'm sorry but I don't think it would be appropriate for me to make that kind of judgment about your wife."

"Hmm. Well, what if she wasn't my wife? What if she was just someone you met on the street? Would you think she was sexy then? Come on man, she fucking hot, isn't she?"

Damn it, I was trying to be the gentleman, but he just wasn't going to let go of this.

"Well," I said, taking a deep breath, "if you're speaking hypothetically, then yes, she is sexy."

"Hmm. And if you saw her on the street, hypothetically of course, and she wasn't my wife, would you think to yourself, 'she's horny; I'd love to have sex with that babe'?"

"Robert, please. I am your employee and this is conversation is making me uncomfortable."

"Relax David, we're just speaking hypothetically. I mean, you should be good at that -- that's what we architects do, turn the hypothetical into reality. Well? Would you? Wouldn't you want to fuck a girl as hot looking as that? Hmm? Just answer the bloody question!"

"Yes," I said, feeling my voice raise, out of sheer frustration, a little more than it should have. "Yes."

"Hmm, I thought so - I would myself!" he said, with a little chuckle that seemed to invite me to join him in a little male camaraderie as we discussed the virtues of the female form - his female, in fact - although I declined the invitation to join in the 'reverie'. This was starting to get a little on the weird side.

Then he turned to me.

"David, it's OK that you think my wife is sexy and that you want to fuck her."

"Robert!" I said sternly. Damn it, I wished he would just drop it! "That's not what I said at all. Please, I did NOT say that!"

"Yeah, well, hypothetically," he shrugged. "But listen to me," he said, turning to me and looking at me with those beady, slightly evil looking little eyes of his, "I want to turn that hypothetical into a reality.

"David, I want you to fuck my wife."

I stood there, dumbfounded, near shellshocked. Did I just hear correctly? He had just asked me to have sex with his wife? Johnson? Was this serious or was it another one of his nasty little mind games? Jesus Christ!

"Well? What do you say?"

I looked at him and it suddenly occurred to me that yes, he was serious. This wasn't a game. I could see it in his eyes. He was serious. I paused for a moment, looking at the floor. Jesus, he was serious about this!

"Well?" He was getting impatient. I had to say something. He was beginning to look a little foolish -- and making Johnson look foolish normally meant losing your job. I had to give him an answer, and there was only one answer I could give him.

"Robert, I can't do that. Yes, your wife is very attractive, but it wouldn't, it just wouldn't be right. I'm sorry but I hope you will understand."

He did not like what I had said; it was plainly evident by the look on his face.

"Look, don't give me that limp dick shit. Of course you want to fuck her -- you more or less just told me that. And I'm giving you permission to do so. God man, haven't you got any balls? Hang on, no -- I'm not asking you to fuck my wife. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. You are my employee and I am saying to you that you will have sex with Elizabeth. You will fuck her -- I am telling you now that it is part of your job. Got that?"

"Er, yes, OK." What else could I say?

"Good."

Oh Jesus, what the fuck is going on with this guy? I was feeling somehow very little foolish as I contemplated what was probably the strangest conversation I'd ever had.

Suddenly the front door opened. It was Elizabeth.

"Oh, hi sweetheart, you're back early," Johnson said.

"Yeah," she laughed. "It started raining."

It had been raining all right. She was soaked to the skin, hair matted against her face, little rivulets of water trickling down her skin; her pretty face, her arms, her legs. The water had turned her bra top slightly transparent, so that her beautifully firm tits could be clearly seen. Her nipples were proudly on display; it must have been cold out there. She looked utterly magnificent, even sexier than in the picture. Oh God, what a babe!

"Darling, you should get out of those wet clothes."

"Well, I'll be off," I said, scared that she might start stripping right in front of me, although why I should be scared I couldn't say. I just needed to get away from this weirdness. But did she even know about what Johnson had just discussed with me? Jesus...

"Yes, David's just leaving," said Johnson, "oh, darling, David will be coming to dinner on Friday night. Will that be alright with you?"

She had been toweling herself off as she turned to me, wrapping her hair in the towel in that way that women do that I always find unbelievably sexy.

"Of course, that will be lovely," she smiled at me. Her eyes were almost sparkling. She was beaming, radiant. "Look forward to seeing you then, David."

I said my goodbyes and left. 'Look forward to seeing you', she had said. There was a tangible enthusiasm in her face, the way she had said it. Oh yes, she knew what had been proposed, I was sure of it.

But what did I think of all this? My mind was still trying to come to terms with what had just happened. My boss, whom I disliked with a passion, is inviting me -- no, ordering me -- to fuck his woman. And Elizabeth is one of the sexist girls I had ever had to the pleasure to lay eyes on. I contemplated all this as I drove home, my heart pumping hard in my chest, my cock as hard as rock.

The next morning I was almost dreading going to work. How was Johnson going to react after what we'd been talking about the night before? It didn't take long for me to find out. He came into my office first thing and shut the door behind him.

"Are you still free for Friday night?" he barked.

"Yes," I said. I mean, well, it wasn't as though he'd bothered to check that with me prior to telling his wife that I'd be coming round for 'dinner' on Friday night. But I was free anyway.

"Good. Be there at six. And make sure you dress up a bit; don't come with those daggy clothes you've got on now. Now, I want a word with you. I want it understood that under no circumstances do you breathe a word about our discussion last night to anyone in this office, or anywhere else for that matter. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because David, if I hear anything to the contrary, I'm sure you know that I have the power to seriously damage your career far more than you've so far managed to do yourself. I don't think I wouldn't do it. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, how is that balcony design going?"

I brought up the file on my computer. He stood there studying it for a minute or so. I could tell it wasn't to his liking by the way his body began to shake.

"Fuck me David, what the fuck is this!"

Here we go, I thought to myself, here we go...

"Er, it's a railing and wall, for the balcony."

"Oh, is it? Well I can fucking well see that. But look at this fucking thing! It looks like it came out of the Victorian era! Jesus Christ, I hire young guys like you so we can stay cutting-edge contemporary, and here you are giving me a railing that looks like it came out of Buckingham Fucking Palace! David, we're designing M-O-D-E-R-N buildings here, not fucking sets for a fucking Jane Austen movie! Just fucking well fix it!"

With that, he stormed out. Arsehole. Yeah, sure, there was a certain intricacy to the design, but it was a Japanese motif, not Victorian. But he missed the whole point -- it was there to break up the solid shapes of the rest of the apartment, a subtle touch that hardly anyone would directly even notice, but one that would enhance the overall visual aspect. He's just too thick to see it. I rubbed out the design and whipped up a flat, featureless wall and railing. I emailed it to his office. Later that day I got a reply that simply said: "Fine".

I didn't see much of Johnson for the rest of the week, which suited me. I just got on with my job, but with the thought of what awaited on Friday never far from my mind. On one level I was excited. Excited because I was going to have sex with such a sweet, hot looking babe on Friday night. It wasn't going to be a case of taking a girl out on a few dates, and then hoping somewhere along the line for a bit of action. It was a done deal. Friday night, I will be feasting my eyes on Elizabeth's gorgeous body, tasting her sweet pussy, driving my cock deep inside her... I night I had been masturbating to the vivid mental image of her standing there in her wet gym gear. Damn, she was hot!

But exactly how was this all going to work, I started wondering. I mean, if you are fucking someone's wife, and it's with the full consent of the guy, where will he be while the action's taking place? In the room, I imagined. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that. The old prick would probably sit there and bark orders while I passionately rammed his wife, telling me how I wasn't doing it right...