Boss's Wife Craves My Midnight Touch
Young employee hooks up with his boss's horny wife in the late-night office.
Prefer to read it? Open the full story →
Jake hunched over his desk in the dimly lit office, the glow of his monitor the only light piercing the late-night shadows. At 25, he was the go-to guy for fixing messes, and tonight's disaster was a botched client presentation for Mr. Harlan, his stern boss who ruled the firm like a drill sergeant. The clock ticked past midnight, muscles aching from hours of frantic edits, when the elevator dinged unexpectedly.
Out stepped Elena Harlan, Mr. Harlan's wife, a sultry 32-year-old vision in a tight black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. The fabric clung to her full breasts, dipping low to tease the swell of her cleavage, and flared just enough over her wide hips to scream temptation. Her dark hair cascaded in loose waves, lips painted red, heels clicking authoritatively on the tile. Jake's jaw slackened; he'd seen her at company parties, always untouchable, radiating that bored housewife heat.
"Jake, right?" she purred, her voice smoky as she sauntered over, eyes locking onto his with a lingering glance that made his pulse jump. "Harlan mentioned you were burning the midnight oil. I was out late—brought some whiskey to celebrate your heroics." She held up a bottle and two glasses, poured amber liquid without waiting for an invite, and slid one across his desk. Her fingers brushed his, electric.
"Uh, thanks, Mrs. Harlan," Jake stammered, taking a sip to steady himself. The whiskey burned smooth, warming his chest.
"Elena," she corrected, perching on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs so the dress rode up her thigh. "And don't worry, Harlan's not here. He's probably schmoozing investors in Tokyo again." Her gaze drifted over him—his rumpled shirt sleeves rolled up, showing toned forearms from weekend gym sessions—lingering like she was undressing him already. "You look tense. Long night?"