Executive Ass.’t


DISCLAIMER: The following work is an homage to the writing of Literotica’s TheTalkMan, an author whose writing I thoroughly enjoy and encourage you to check out. As such, this story is somewhat outside of my usual remit, and does not include either incest or mind control. It does, however, include such themes as, cheating, betrayal, cuckqueaning, some light femdom and reluctant sex. IF THESE THEMES ARE NOT TO YOUR LIKING, do not continue to read, or, if you do, don’t complain that the story wasn’t written to your liking. You have been forewarned.


Kristen was the only woman in the office with the audacity to wear leopard-print shoes to work, Martin knew that much for sure. Technically, they were boots, he supposed, not boots, but they stood out from the corporate uniform like a sore thumb. With five-inch heels and a platform to boot, they raised the statuesque, frosted blonde to new heights; she paired them with some black skinny pants that appeared vacuum-sealed to those long, muscular legs and sweetly-curved behind, and a white blouse that she’d left open just enough to show off a healthy volume of cleavage and occasionally the upper edge of one of her bra-cups. If anyone dared to mention the tightness of her pants or the glimpse of her lacy bra, they’d get a withering look and a sharp tongue for their trouble, not to mention their calls would mysteriously fail to reach them.

Martin, to his credit, noticed neither the prodigious swell of her tits or the sweet peachiness of her behind; a married man of a whole two weeks, he only had eyes for his high school sweetheart and brand-new wife. So, while he’d heard murmurs among the cleaning staff and other guys in the offices next door about Kristen, he didn’t see the big deal. He did notice her boots, though; they were too outstanding to ignore. He saw the bold pattern and the high heel and the gold charms swinging from the brass zipper — tiny hearts, each imprinted with “mine.”

As far as he was concerned, she was just the oldest woman in the office — Martin had heard that she was pushing fifty, which seemed ancient to his 25 — and at the same time, the newest secretary. His boss, a notorious tyrant in J. Jonah Jameson style, had been through three in the last year. Kristen had only started three or four weeks ago, but already Mr. Petersen seemed happier, so everybody was a little happier.

Even his wife, Melody, seemed happier after he’d told her about Kristen. After a train of cute young girls had traipsed through the office, his loving, generous, kind — if a little plain — wife had relaxed visibly once she learned that the new secretary was almost as old as both of them put together!

“I’m telling you man, fucking prime MILF!”

“I don’t believe you, Rodriguez. That shit doesn’t happen outside of porn.”

Martin didn’t look up from the briefs on his desk. Sounded like a couple of the cleaners, coming in at the end of the day to empty the garbage.

“You go down there and look for yourself, man. Five bucks says you come back with a hard on!”

Martin coughed loudly. He really didn’t want to hear this shit. Mostly what he wanted was to get home to his wife before it got late. He was already in the doghouse for postponing their honeymoon to finish up the Pauling project, but the trip they could take with the bonus he was looking at would more than make up for it. He checked his watch, then looked at the clock on the phone; he picked up the receiver, just to make sure it had a dial tone. Where the hell was Pauling, anyway? The weekly teleconf was scheduled for 4:30; it was almost 5!

One of the cleaners wandered past, pushing a mop bucket. He nodded to Martin. Martin looked back at his work. Down the hall, he could hear Kristen and the cleaner talking about something, then laughing. A few moments later, the cleaner passed his office door again. He nodded. Martin ignored him.


“Holy shit I owe you five bucks!”

“I know, right?”

“Fuck I’ve never seen tits like that!”

“Perfect fucking MILF tits, my friend.”

“What do you mean? Tits are tits, yo.”

“Fuck you. Don’t you watch any MILF porn? Big ol’ cougar tits are the way to go!”

“You’ll have to hook me up after work.”

“Damn straight, son. Nothing beats fat, creamy, beautiful MILF tits; except maybe a perfect, round MILF ass.”

Martin tried to ignore them. Same damn thing every damn day. What was the big deal with MILFs, anyway? It seemed like every time he turned around, guys were all “MILF this” and “MILF that.” He much preferred his young little wife: sure, sometimes she was a little reluctant about sex, and maybe she didn’t always want to–

“Don’t you two have anything better to do than stand around all day?” Kristen called out from the other end of the hall; embarrassed silence followed, then hushed whispers as they wheeled their buckets back out. Heels *clacked* sharply down the hall soon after. Her face appeared around the corner, a frosted blonde mane of loose silky curls bouncing casino şirketleri around her features.

“They bugging you, Marty?” Some people in the office said she’d had work done, but there was sign of the tight, frozen features worn by folks who’d gone the way of Botox; a few stray lines around her eyes and mouth betrayed her age to some extent, but otherwise her skin was clear, almost translucent. Mischievous hazel eyes twinkled at him as plush, pink-glossed lips spread in a smile. Other guys in the office would stare, sometimes, not really sure what or how to address a beautiful older woman; Martin, thinking only of getting home to Melody, was too distracted to notice.

“No more than usual.” He said. Nobody had called him “Marty” since he was fifteen; normally he’d object, but running against Kristen’s iron will struck him as a bad idea. Who cared what she called him, so long as he could get out on time?

“Let me know if they do. I’ll take care of ya.” She winked at him. Martin blushed. Kristen was nice, so long as you stayed on her good side. This was true of all secretaries, but she’d been slightly nicer to him than the rest of the office. Every morning this week, he’d come in to find a steaming cup of coffee on his desk, made to order, without any input from him. Every now and again he’d find a candy or something sitting on his chair. Nothing weird, of course; she was probably just settling into the office and trying to make friends. They were both outsiders, after all; she had just come in from an outside department, and he had only started a few months beforehand. She was the oldest person in the office by (reportedly) a decade or so; he was the youngest by at least five years.

“Thanks, Kristen. I’m fine, no worries.” He gave her a slightly disingenuous smile, feeling the minutes slip past, and knowing he’d have to rush to beat the traffic. Martin checked the message light on the phone again, just in case he’d missed a ring or something.

“You look pretty worried to me,” she said, stepping into the doorway. “Anything I can do?”

“Are you gonna be here for a while?” He checked his watch again.

“Here til six, probably.”

“Can you keep an eye out and text me if Emil Pauling calls? I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Heading home to the little woman?”

“Yeah. Do you mind?”

“Not a problem, Marty.” Kristen winked at him.

“Thanks!” Martin practically leapt out of his chair, and hastily scribbled his number on a post-it. “Here’s my cell. Don’t tell Petersen you have it or he won’t give me a minute’s peace.”

“He won’t hear it from me. It’ll be our little secret, I promise.”

“Thanks, Kristen. I really appreciate this. I owe you one” Martin swept some papers hastily into his briefcase. “Nice kicks, by the way.”

“Why thank you , Marty,” she gushed. “Sucking up to me will get you everywhere.”

Martin laughed. “Don’t let Melody hear you say that. She gets kinda jealous.”

“Sounds like somebody not as secure as she’d like to be.” Kristen winked again. “It’s our little secret. Have a good night, Marty.”

“You too.” He grabbed his case and his jacket, letting the jab at Melody slide. “See you tomorrow.”


His phone didn’t buzz on the way out of the building. It stayed silent on the drive home. There was nothing during dinner, or while he did the dishes, either. It wasn’t until after he and Melody had curled up together on the couch

Scrambling, he yanked his phone out of his pocket.

**hey marty its kris**

**just fyi no call from pauling**

Martin cursed under his breath. Pauling lived about four and a half hours to the east — it was way late over there. There was no call coming tonight, which would mean a long day tomorrow trying to sort shit.

“You okay babe?” Melody asked; she was snuggled up comfortably in thick fleece PJs. Enormous stylized pigs leered out at him from the fabric.

“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair. “This Pauling thing is gonna take longer than I expected, I think.”

He thumbed a response to Kristen. **Dammit. 🙁 Thanks. I appreciate the heads up**

Melody pouted and got off the couch. “We’re never going to have a damn honeymoon at this rate.” She walked away, towards the bedroom; Martin was about to follow when his phone buzzed again.

**no prob bob**

He stood up, turned to flick his phone on the couch and it went off again.

**what u doing?**

**Nothing, just hanging out.**

**with the little lady?**

**not anymore**

**oh. can I ask a quick q?**

**Sure. I owe you one anyway.**

**I need ur opinion on something.**

**Ask away.**

**got a date tmrw with a dude about your age. think he’d like?**

What followed was a slightly grainy mobile phone picture. Ostensibly, it was a photo of a shoe: it was peach, with a towering heel, a subtle platform and a lacy mesh covering from peep-toe to ankle. Most of the picture was dominated by a long sweep of creamy white casino firmaları skin from upper thigh to pink-painted toes. For a moment, all he could do was stare at that long, gorgeous leg; all unblemished skin and smooth muscle with nary a hint of cellulite. Even Melody was starting to show signs of the stuff, and she still hadn’t hit the second half of her 20s!

He stared, then closed the text conversation, heart pounding. What if Melody had seen that? What was he doing? He hadn’t even looked at any pornography in three months out of respect for his new spouse — not that he’d ever been a great consumer of smut — he definitely shouldn’t be looking at a co-worker’s gams!

The phone vibrated again.

**well?** Appeared on the lock screen.

*Well, your legs are magnificent,* ran briefly through his mind. With a disgusted noise, Martin threw the phone down on the couch, and went after Melody.


“Hey Marty, you never answered my question,” Kirsten complained over the phone the next day, just as Martin was thinking about lunch.

“Yeah, well I’m not sure it was an appropriate question to ask somebody you work with.” he replied testily, not looking up from the Pauling stuff.

“Sorry Marty, I didn’t realize. You didn’t get in trouble with the little missus, did you?”

“That’s not the point! You shouldn’t be texting me stuff like… like that!”

“Jesus, it was just a leg, Marty, not a picture of my pussy.” Kristen said. “Look: I’m dating a guy around your age – he’s actually a little younger than you – and it seemed natural to ask you if he’d like it. I figured it’d be safe to ask a married guy; one who wouldn’t mistake it for a come-on or something.”

Martin’s face flushed when she said ‘pussy.’ He’d never heard a woman use language like that before in his young life, and certainly didn’t expect it from one old enough to be his mother.

“Sorry, Kristen. I didn’t realize.”

“No prob, bob. What did you think of them, anyway?”

“They were,” he paused, remembering. “Great. He’ll really like them. You really date guys my age?”

“No,” she demurred. “I usually date guys a little younger than you. You’d be amazed, really. The older I get, the more I attract younger dudes. It’s the same for all my friends. They all say that the younger guys all want a ‘milf’ or a ‘cougar,’ whatever that means.”

Martin opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out. His brain was too busy trying to parse what Kristen had said. He’d heard the terms before, of course; he even knew of the websites offering quantities of older-woman porn, but he’d always figured that it was just a passing fad, a flash-in-the-pan fetish of the moment.

“Um.” He said, grasping for words. “Well. Anyway. Do you have those files I was asking about?”

“Yup!” Kristen enthused. “They’re here at my desk if you wanna mosey on down and pick ’em up.”

“Uh, sure?” Martin was taken aback momentarily; he was gathering up the words to tell her to shuttle them on down to his office like any other damn secretary in the building, but then the other end of the line clicked. He looked at the dead handset in his fist. “Oookay.”

He debated silently with himself on the question of whether or not it was worth the time, effort or possible ramifications to call her back to tell Kristen to just deliver the files. Shaking his head, Martin pushed away from his desk and stood. Less fighting would be more better.

Strolling down the hall, he noticed that just about everybody had already cleared out for lunch; most of the office doors were closed. Had they all gone out together and not told him? Again? Even Kristen wasn’t at her desk.

“Great.” Taking care not to touch anything, Martin craned over her workspace, trying not to read any filenames or documents but scanning for the Pauling files he needed.

“Marty, is that you?” Kristen’s voice came from behind Petersen’s closed door.

“Yes?” He said, wondering what was going on in there. He could hear the rustling of clothes and tried not to think about what that probably meant.

“I’m just changing real quick before I head to lunch, but I tucked your files in my desk drawer for safe keeping. I didn’t want to get ’em mixed up with anybody else’s. You can grab ’em if you want. Bottom drawer, left-hand side.” Easing around the side of the desk and feeling like he was invading her privacy, Martin saw that Kristen clearly made use of the space underneath it as an extra shoe closet. Half a dozen pairs of heels lay in a jumble down there, including the peach platforms she’d texted him the night before. Whatever she’d been doing last night, the odds were good the secretary had come straight from there to work.

Reaching down, he slid open the bottom-left drawer. Inside, it was mostly empty, except for a pair of turquoise Nikes tossed on top of a scrap of black fabric. He heard Petersen’s door open.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Marty!” Kristen was standing in their boss’ doorway, wearing a skintight pair of bright-pink güvenilir casino running tights that read “JUST DO IT” up her left thigh. She looked like she’d been poured into the tights, which flowed into every curve and hollow from ankle to hip, and the muscles in her calves and thigh bulged as she posed with one bare foot hooked behind her knee. Her turquoise tank skimmed over her plush chest, showing not the barest hint of cleavage but doing nothing to hide the luscious swells of her breasts; she raised her arms to lean against the doorway, and a hint of smooth skin poured out of the side. “Bottom-right, I meant.”

Pointedly looking away from the mature blonde vision, Martin hauled the other drawer open to find papers stacked up to the brim. At the top was a baby-pink folder with the label “Pauling.”

“Sorry, hon.” She said with a laugh. “I always get those two mixed up.”

“No problem.” Martin tried not to sound irritated, tossing the file on her desk.

“Could you do me a solid and grab my sneakers while you’re over there? I’m going to the gym for lunch.” Kristen unhooked her foot from behind her knee, and wiggled her pink-painted toenails at him. He suppressed an eyeroll, and reached into the left drawer.

Pulling out the sneakers, he could see that underneath them was a little pile of black fabric. Curious, Martin poked it with the toe of one sneaker, and it unrolled to reveal a tiny disheveled eyepatch of a thong, the first he’d ever seen in person. Melody didn’t own any, only a cheeky pair of tiger-print briefs she’d bought as a joke for their wedding night. The fabric was a smooth, shimmery black except for the crotch, which had been stained white with-

He slammed the drawer as fast as he could, and stood up.

“Marty? Hon? Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” Kristen was looking at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, but if she knew what he’d seen, nothing of it was revealed elsewhere in her face, which was a mask of concern.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He gave her a weak smile. “Here’s your shoes,” he waved them at the secretary.

“Can you bring ’em over? I don’t want to get my feet dirty on this awful old carpet.”

“Sure.” Glad to get away from her desk, Martin walked out from behind it and proffered the shoes to her in an outstretched arm.

“You’re not going to put them on for me?” Kristen asked, glossy pink mouth screwed up in an exaggerated pout. She unhooked her foot and wiggled it in front of him; looking down, he could see that her toenails had been detailed with tiny hearts against the shocking pink.

“Uh-” he started to say, but the word ‘no’ caught in his throat.

“Marty!” The blonde laughed with a throaty chuckle. “I’m joking! God, you always take me so seriously. I’m a grown woman. I can put my own shoes on.” Kristen took the sneakers from his hand and gave him a wink. “I already know you’re a Prince Charming; I hope that little wifey of yours appreciates it.” She bent to put them on, smooth bare arms pressing into her outsize chest.

“Anyway, I’m off.” Kristen whipped her hair back into a ponytail, all lazy blonde loops shot through with silver, and produced a white ballcap from somewhere. “I look okay for the employee gym, right?” She did a slow spin for him, revealing twin half-moons of bare, sculpted back where the racerback of her tanktop cut in; the tights poured into the thick musculature of her behind, thick rounded globes that swallowed up the pink spandex between them. “Normally I wouldn’t wear so much, but I don’t want to give the execs a heart attack.”

“No, you uh- you look fine.” Martin dry-swallowed, suddenly lost for words.

“You can’t see through them, can you?” She grabbed a handful of ripe, mature ass, long fingernails digging into firm flesh, then released it. Her ass jiggled a moment, then settled back to perfection. “This old girl’s gotten a bit thicker since the last time I wore these.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nope, nope. Not at all.”

“Thanks, Marty! You’re a peach.” Kristen gave him a slightly-sticky peck on the cheek and walked away. Martin, to his credit, didn’t watch her striding down the corridor, legs flashing and ass sashaying back and forth.

Well, not for very long, anyway.


Martin spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the Pauling file with his office door shut and his phone muted. He didn’t even poke his head out until well after Kristen rapped sharply on his door, bid him a good weekend, and clacked her way out of the office. Only then, when he was sure he was relatively safe, did he slink away with his papers, secure at least in the knowledge that he had an exciting weekend of working from home ahead. He even managed to put the memory of Kristen’s semen-stained panties out of his head for a while – all the long way home, all through dinner with Melody, all through dishes afterward and Netflix on the couch.

As they sat through yet another episode of *Lost*, Martin’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He and Melody looked at each other.

“Who’s that?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Work, probably.” He said with a sigh.

“Mar*tin*,” Melody said petulantly. “You told me you’d *never* give work your personal number!”

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