My stockings are thigh high. Old school with the seam in the back. For panties, he has requested white nylon. Not lace. Not silk.
A skirt — knee length and conservative and a silk white blouse with a white nylon bra. Black heels. Nothing too provocative.
My hair up and my make-up modest. A professional look that says business.
A long overcoat — open to show my conservative attire.
This is his request — actually a demand — when I visit his place of business this day. I visit him regularly under the guise that I am a legal assistant there to notarize signatures on paperwork.
When I get to his office and the door is closed, the overcoat and skirt are to be removed immediately. The blouse unbuttoned but not removed and the panties and stockings straightened and smoothed out before I take the position on my knees.
He looks at the mirror – not at me. Watches as a voyeur would. His pleasure more from what he sees than what he feels. At least right up until the last.
When the time — and he — comes, he looks down to watch as I puff out my cheeks and let him fill them. No swallowing. Not yet.
He removes himself and a small amount of his semen comes with him. It has taken some work, but I have learned how to make it drop between my breasts and into my bra. A smile. He likes that.
An open mouth to show him his seed, and then a single swallow as I looked into his eyes.
For most men, this would be enough. A fantasy fulfilled and then off to do business. This man is not like that. Still work to be done — and this part will be where I earn my money.
I take my place on his desk — bent over — offered for the mount. He plays first. Squeezing the cheeks. Pulling the panties up tight into my mons, then back down to just below the orbs of my ass. Pinching the lips together, then spreading me for his admiration.
A thumb gently then not so gently exploring the entry to my anus. Finally, a bit of lubricant from a tube in his pocket, and a long sharp poke as the thumb is replaced with something more substantial.
How he gets hard again so fast is a mystery, but with a few minutes pumping this too is all over.
Before I stand, the panties are dropped to the floor. My knees are next as I kneel in front of him and use the snow-white panties to clean his cock.
They come away soiled. The less said about that the better.
Once he is clean I kiss his cock and use the panty to clean myself as well. When I am done, I hand him the pants which he slides into the pocket of his jacket.
With care I place him back in his zipper, his cock still aroused but no longer hard, and he zips himself.
I stand and make my way to my skirt — bending at the waist as I pick it up from the floor. Also facing away from him as I step into it and slide it into place.
I button my blouse and fix my hair in the mirror before I turn to receive an envelope of. He looks down to see the smudge of cum on my boob as it leaks through my blouse. I know he approves.
Leaving, I wave a vague goodbye to his secretary as I exit the building.
Shortly after receiving home, as always, I receive a phone call from said secretary.
“He will see you Wednesday at 11AM. Tan panties. Matching stockings with garters. The brown flats and cream blouse. No bra this time but button your jacket before you enter the building.”
As I hang up I wonder how much she really knows of what goes on. Whether she herself once served in the same role as I or perhaps if she still does, or something quite similar.
I wonder what he does with the panties. Does he collect them? Does he sniff them or perhaps send them out for cleaning?
Perhaps knowing that I wonder is part of what makes this fantasy all work for him. I am paid and that is all I know. More than the buggery and the humiliation of the clean-up, it is the unfulfilled curiosity that bothers me most.