Chapter 1: Office Secretary

It was a grey, cloudy Tuesday morning. A typical morning in London during its bleak, chilling winter.

Martin Hughes heavy footsteps echoed along the quiet corridor. He shivered as the chilling cold penetrated his thick winter coat and he breathed out a puff of icy air. ’Got to get that damn heating back on,’ he thought to himself.

He stopped outside the oak door with the number 9 sticking to the glass panel. He breathed in … and out; mentally preparing himself for the day ahead. It would be as normal a day as any as far as he could tell – but when you’re 55 with health problems and a ***** of a wife who could be in bed with anyone, man or woman, while you’re hard at work to support her, it all becomes unbearably difficult and undeniably pointless.

Martin stared lazily at the door. The door he had walked through countless times for countless years. Each time he walked through the door, work started, as did the countdown to the end of it – when his wife would do all she can to disguise the smell of her passionate acts with the plumber, or the hairdresser.

All he could think about as he gripped the brass door knob to cross the threshold of his obtuse labour was who she could be with today; which master or mistress she was no doubt enjoying at that moment. Maybe a neighbour? Maybe someone Martin didn’t even know. Maybe there was more than just one at a time –

’Mr. Hughes?’

’Yes,’ sighed Martin, turning to face his beloved secretary.

’You have a visitor, Sir.’

Martin flung his suitcase through the open door into his room and glanced at his watch. ’Now?’ he asked, appalled.

’I’m afraid so, Sir,’ she replied, apologetically.

Martin sighed. The official time to begin work hadn’t even begun and he was already more stressed than he could cope with. Maybe it was a lover of his wife come to apologize and plead for forgiveness?

’Important visitor?’

’I think so, Sir. I saw his car.’

’His car?’

’Yes, Sir. A Jaguar XJ – diplomatic plates.’

Martin sighed again, knowing this wouldn’t be easy. He’d dealt with people like this before. Before he begun thinking carefully about how to deal with this unexpected, unwanted visitor, Martin demanded his usual coffee.

’Right away, Mr. Hughes. Black?’

’As always, Ana.’

She flashed him a gorgeous smile. He attempted (but failed) one back. His eyes fell downwards towards her rear as she walked to the coffee machine. He admired its perfect shape swinging to and fro, rhythmically. His eyes were then drawn down her black stockings to her high heeled shoes. As she turned to make his coffee, so did her feet.

His mouth started salivating at the sight of her ten perfect round toes pointing through. Martin wanted no more than to pull the stocking off with his teeth and to suck them till he passed out. He wanted those perfect feet wrapped round his cock until he came all over them.

He was so hypnotized he didn’t realize her looking up at him. He was shocked as he looked into her eyes. All he could see was – lust.

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