She was wearing a red dress, cut low enough to show her cleavage and high enough so that, with her legs crossed, any interested party could get a look at her cunt. She never wore a bra and seldom wore panties. She was, Carl noticed, not wearing panties today.

"Will you come into my private office, please, Miss Jenson?" he asked, as he passed through, prick first.

She jumped up and took up her dictation pad.

She always brought that with her, and a pencil, although not one word had ever been written down. She seemed to think the pad and pencil had something to do with the job.

Carl did not correct her. He knew that she liked to think of herself as a proper secretary. She came in behind him and closed the door. He was adjusting the blinds, wanting enough light to see what he was doing, in all the juicy details, but not enough to be glaring. He liked soft light to complement soft flesh. When he turned from the window, Cathy had already begun to remove her clothing.

She drew her red dress over her head. Her high, thrusting tits needed no support. Naked, they were as firm as inflated balloons and the stiff nipples stood out erotically. Her pussy mound was a tangled mass of gold locks, curly and thick.

He gazed at her in appreciation. He wondered how many boyfriends she had, how many men were fucking her after work. He felt almost jealous at the thought. He moved toward her, the huge lump of his cock-bulge pressing his pants out.

Cathy went to meet him, still dutifully clutching the pad and pencil which had never once been used.

Still fully clothed, himself – in suit and tie – Carl took her into his arms and felt her hot, smooth, naked flesh quiver at his touch. Her belly pressed against him and his raging cock indented an elongated outline into her loins.