In the back of my mind, a voice whispered, This is a trap.
But somewhere between my brain and my pants, my little friend had a different opinion—just go with the flow. I realized how many conversations could happen in seconds the moment the word sex entered the air.
I was nervous, but I played it cool.
She kept talking, saying how getting married had taken away so many of her fun days. I nodded and told her I understood. We carried the cash drawers to the back office to do the final count before she locked everything in the safe.
Then she looked at me and said, "A young, handsome man like you must have a lot of girlfriends."
I told her no—that most girls my age just wanted to party and ask for things I wasn't interested in buying. She smiled and said, "A woman like me is already married and has everything she needs… except one thing."
Then she said it—plain and direct. All she wanted was a hard, young dick from time to time when she felt lonely. Someone who knew how to keep his mouth shut.
I was stunned. Not a single word came out.
She stepped closer, pulled me in, dropped to her knees, slid my pants and boxers down, and wrapped her hand around me. She spit into her palm and started stroking. The office was cold from the air conditioning, but my whole body instantly burned. My little friend rose to the moment without hesitation.
She asked if I ever ate pussy. I told her I was half Chinese. She burst out laughing, stood up, and ripped that summer dress off like lightning. For an older woman, her body was flawless—breasts firm, nipples standing like they were ready for war.
In one fast motion, I cleared the boss's desk, picked her up, laid her back, and went to work like it was my last meal. Every moan made me harder. She was so wet I thought I might drown. She pulled my head up, got off the desk, pushed me into the chair, and started riding me.
I tried not to cum, but nothing worked. When I finally told her I was about to explode, she held me tighter, sank even deeper, and whispered in my ear, "I want all of you."
When she finally pulled away, it spilled down her thighs and onto the floor.
The guilt hit me immediately—this was my boss's wife. She looked at me, calm as ever, and said, "Next time, we're doing this at my house. I've got all my little toys waiting for you."
Then she told me to put the cash in the safe, fix the office, and get ready to leave.
Before locking up, she looked at me and said, "Remember—this is our little secret."
I nodded, got in my car, and drove home, talking to myself the entire way.
This woman is going to get me killed. What the hell just happened?