The £100,000 + PA

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“What did he do next?”

“He kissed me again,” I said as Marc’s hand cupped my left breast.

“And?”

“I responded.”

“Was your mouth open?”

“Yes it was.”

“Was his tongue in your mouth?”

“Yes, probably.”

“And yours, was that in his?”

“Yes, I think it was?” I told him as he Marct over, took my nipple into his mouth and sucked it quite hard, just as he knew I liked it. “Hold on a moment, let me get rid of these,” I said removing my glasses.

“Was he touching you as well?”

“Yes, of course,” I said reaching down and taking my Marc’s familiar cock in my hand.

“Where?”

“My breasts mainly?”

“Anywhere else?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“You can guess where, Marc? After all we were in a car in a dark, quiet place after a romantic dinner and a bottle or so of wine.”

“Were you wearing a skirt?”

“Yes, I was in my red suit.”

“The one with three buttons up the jacket?”

“Yes and the tight skirt, it’s DKNY,” I said, as his hand closed round mine on his dick.

We were in bed in my flat in Highgate. Marc is my live in lover. We had been together on and off for a couple of years and about six months ago I let him move in. We have an open relationship, where both of us do our own thing, but always get back with each other. It had become a thing between us that Marc insisted I tell him the detail about my adventures. He got off big time on that, but I did not. Well actually I did telling him, but felt no need to hear him tell me about the young actresses he had fucked or the older actors who had propositioned him.

“Did he undo the jacket?”

“Yes.”

“What did you have on under it?”

“Just a bra.”

“A black one?” He asked slipping his hand down and wiggling it between my slightly chunky thighs.

“Yes, the one you got me from AP.”

“Mmmmm, all black and lacy, you can see your nipples through the lace.”

“Yes Matt said that too, he sucked them.”

“What still in the bra?”

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“It was fantastic, but I was worried about him damaging the bra.”

“What car was it?” He asked running his fingers through my blonde, with dark streaks, rather spiky hair.

“A Merc.”

“A big one?”

“Car you mean?” I asked rather tackily.”

“Yeah right, of course the car you fucking slag,” he grunted as his finger found my wetness and slid inside me.”

“Did he do this?”

“What?”

“Finger you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I was wearing tights” I replied as he started pumping my hand up and down his erection.

I could feel that I was starting to cum and that his cock was starting to throb. It usually happens like this when I tell Marc about an adventure or make up a story about me being fucked or sucked or licked, by man or woman or, as he prefers, by both.

Marc is younger than me, he is in his mid-thirties, almost ten years my junior. He is an actor, or claims to be, but rarely works at that. He calls himself a theatrical professional, although he does not work much in theatres. He actually flits around the acting scene, writing scripts, trying to get productions for TV, film and stage off the ground, but rarely does. He makes a little money by doing some commercial voiceovers, training films, role-plays, as extras on soaps like Casualty and helping producers do something, though god knows what.

His main source of income was lying in bed with Michaela, her hand round his gorgeous cock with three of his fingers up her cunt as he made her cum.

“So did you cum?”

“Yes of course.”

“What in your panties?”

“Yes, but they are only Marks and Spencer so it didn’t matter.”

“Did he cum?”

“No.”

“Fucking nutcase,” Marc said as his spunk gushed out, all over my hand and onto the slight paunch on my stomach.

*

“Are you serious?” I said to Cynthia Albright the headhunter with whom I was registered.

She had approached me a few months ago about a job as a senior PA to the CEO of a footsie one hundred company. At the time, I was Company Secretary and Personal Assistant to Gordon Adamson the Chairman and main shareholder of an electronic components business that he had inherited from his father. I had been there eight years and had helped him float the company on the stock exchange making him a sterling millionaire many times over. With the share options that formed part of my eighty k sterling package, I had also done well financially to the extent that I would never need to worry about money again. It also enabled me to indulge myself in little luxuries like having a younger live in lover as my, nearly, kept man.

I had a few interviews with Cynthia, her partner, the HR Director of the footsie one hundred company and the great man himself. They went well, but it just did not seem right for me so, much to Cynthia’s chagrin at missing out on the thirty three per cent fee, I declined.

“But if anything else along those lines comes up keep me in mind” I had said as we held each other’s gaze just that tad too long. That made me wonder whether canlı bahis şirketleri she was thinking the same as me about not mixing business with pleasure. Looking at the petite, beautifully dressed, gorgeously pretty fifty year-old I imagined that the pleasure part would be immense.

She had kept in touch and mixing business with pleasure seemed to becoming more likely when she had called me this evening.

Marc was out at some actor workshop in Camden Town and I had just got home from work. It was just after nine.

“Yes darling I am deadly serious,” she cooed into my ear via my mobile.

We had reached a tacit, unsaid agreement that we would not mix the business of her landing me a great job with the undoubted pleasure we would both receive from the other’s body, but she still ‘darlinged and loveyd’ me.

She had told me that Sir Richard Ellison was interested in seeing me for a post as his Executive Assistant. He was one of the UK’s richest businessmen owning a goodly part of a huge group of companies with fingers in so many pies they could hardly be counted. It was a global multinational business, an old-fashioned conglomerate like ITT, Hanson, Litton or Lonrho that bucked the modern trend and dabbled in lots of industries including manufacturing, Internet, electronics, airlines, advertising, hotels, film making, publishing, property and many more.

Sir Richard had been at the helm for ten years or so and had taken the business from being reasonably profitable to being a powerhouse for making money. He had embarked on a massive acquisition programme on all continents and had totally pissed off the City by taking Global Services private. The papers claimed, however, that he was regularly courted to take it public again and it was rumoured that he was considering it in the medium-term.

Cynthia had explained that the job would be working directly for and very close to Sir Richard. It would be hellish, twenty-four, seven hours and there would be lots of travel, both in the UK and Europe and throughout the world.

“I am sure, my dear, that most of the time you will not know whether you are coming or going,” she said seductively down the phone.

Laughing, I replied. “Now that’s appealing, but I usually know the difference Cyn.”

I could tell Cynthia was smiling as she replied. “You mean the going and not the other I assume Michy.”

“Who can say luv, who can say?” I half-flirted back to her.

“May I get you a drink or anything Michaela?” Sir Richard Ellison asked as I sat in his private office that was located in a town house in Knightsbridge round the back of Harrods.

“No I am fine thanks,” I replied feeling a little nervous at the interview.

It was eight-thirty on a Sunday morning. Cynthia explained that he was flying in from America overnight and leaving for Africa later that evening.

“I know it’s an ungodly, fucking hour Michy, but it is the only window he has for some time.”

“It’s no problem at all and hey the traffic across town will be light at that time won’t it?”

“So what is Sir Richard fucking Ellison like in the flesh Michy?” Marc asked when I got back to Highgate that afternoon at just after one.

“Quite impressive” I replied unbuttoning the jacket of the dark blue Karen Millen suit and hanging it up.

“I ordered some pizza, should be here soon.”

“What the hell do you want pizza for this time of day?”

“Felt hungry, so why is he so impressive?” He asked.

“You know I am a power junky Marc and of all the powerful and successful men I have met he stands head and shoulder above them.”

The pizza arrived and Marc put it on the coffee table and sliced it up.

“Let me take this off” I said unzipping the skirt. I have a paranoia about dropping food on my clothes.

“Mmmm very nice” Marc said looking at my white, lace, see through panties and black holdups. “What’s under the blouse?” He asked nodding at the button up the back white silk top.

“Wanna see?”

“Of course, you know how I love topless or even better naked dining,” he smiled slipping his tee shirt off.

“Undo me then” I said going over to him and turning so he could get to the buttons.

I was wearing a Janet Regar lace and silk bra that was slightly on the small side for my thirty-six inch D cup boobs.

“Now that is nice” he went on sprawling on the settee. “So your Mister Big?”

“Well that I don’t know darling, but I doubt he matches what you have in those tatty jeans.

“What my Mister Big,” he smiled undoing his zip.

In addition to having the stamina of a man in his thirties and the looks of an Adonis, Marc has the advantage of having a great cock. It is not so much its length, but its girth that is the attraction to me. When it is in me, I get this lovely feeling of being overfilled and stretched, stuffed I suppose!

“Mmmm, now that really is lovely,” I said as he slid his jeans down and sat on the sofa with them round his ankles. As usual, he had not bothered with underwear I noted, as he started stroking his cock.

“Well he is in canlı kaçak iddaa his mid-fifties, slim, with a fine head of blonde hair that’s turning grey, a bit like Heseltine in his prime. He was impeccably dressed and groomed and has beautiful manners, although the coldness in his icy blue eyes suggests he could be a right bastard when angry or if crossed.”

“So did he fuck you?”

“Don’t be daft, it was an interview.”

“Would you let him?”

“I have not even thought about it.”

“Liar.”

“Really I haven’t,” I said removing the top and hanging that on the back of a chair.

“Don’t believe you Meech, you look at every man as a potential fuck just as I do every woman I meet.”

“Ah that is different,” I said watching him rub his delicious looking dick. “I looked at him as a potential lover, of course, but did not think whether I would let him or not, is what I mean.”

“Get yer tits out Meech,” he growled.

I undid my bra and removed it.

“So as a potential lover, how did he rate?”

“Highly,” I said as I cupped my tits and perched on the edge of the sideboard.

“How highly?”

“Probably about as high as an older guy can.”

“Why so high?” He asked watching me squeeze my flesh and push the two fair sized orbs together.

“He has this aura about him. All powerful men have it.”

“Do I?” Marc asked as he slid one hand down my body and into the luxurious material of my panties.

“You know you are about as fucking powerful as a poodle, so no you don’t.”

“What do I have?”

I looked into his eyes and then down at his hand. “A great cock Marc, that’s what you have.”

“Does he, do you reckon?”

“I have no idea.”

“So what was the interview like?”

“It was a little scary” I told him sliding a finger along my lips and finding my clit.

“How?”

“He had a dossier on me and seemed to know so much about me. He even said at one time when I asked him about the dossier that he could probably name most of the men I have slept with. He had you in it.”

“No.”

“He did. He knows that you live with me, that you sod around pretending to be an actor, and that you have been divorced twice. He know that you had an affair with that BBC newsreader, the female one that is, how much you earn and that you are bi.

“Jesus Christ.”

“He didn’t mention him.”

“Oh yeah, very funny, come ‘ere Meech,” Marc said patting the settee beside him. “You won’t need these” he went on taking hold of the elastic of my panties and pulling them down. “So he has not been here yet?” He asked sliding his hand up my stockinged leg and right onto my wet pussy.

“Of course not.”

“Will he?”

“Who knows, I have not got the job yet.”

“Do you want it?”

“Yes I do?”

“Why?”

“There will loads of involvement and responsibility, I will be at the heart of a global company working for one of the most powerful men in industry.”

“And as you have said before Meech, you are a power junky aren’t you?”

“Yes Marc I am,” I said squeezing my tits and pinching my nipples.

“More like a fucking power groupie if you ask me” Marc said pushing three fingers up me and putting his arm round my waist. “So if you get the job would you let him?” He asked patting the sofa. “Kneel next to me love.”

I knelt on the settee my knees pressed against his outer leg. “Would you?” He went on starting to finger fuck me.

“It depends.”

“On what?

Marc reached up and slid his arm round my beck. He pulled me indicating clearly what he wanted.

“Many things” I said as my face was pressed against his cock.

“But in principal?”

“In principal, yes I probably would and in all probability would have to,” I told him just before he shoved his cock into my mouth.

*

“He wants you Michaela.”

“Does he now?” I said to Cynthia as we sat across a low coffee table sipping tea from bone china cups in her swish, Jermyn Street office.

Smiling sweetly she replied. “Yes and rather badly I believe, but then many do…….” She paused as I looked at her.

“Do they now?”

“Yes of course, I have at least six positions where you would be badly wanted.”

I smiled. “Well let’s put five on one side and deal with GSL shall we?”

“Ok.

Albright, Corkoran, Smithson and partners is a headhunting consultancy that built its reputation during the nineties and early naughties specialising in placing high-level secretaries and PAs. They never advertise for candidates or clients. They win customers purely by word of mouth and recommendations, which also gains them most of their candidates. The majority of them, mainly females, they identify by conducting extensive research. That was how they had ‘found’ me.

I first met Cynthia after she had called me one day and persuaded me to meet her for an interview. It lasted a whole day, was very in-depth and included a number of personality tests. After the tests had been processed, we met again and she explained the type of position that ACS now specialised in was changing.

“We no longer canlı kaçak bahis find jobs for girls, we find careers for women,” she rather obviously explained.

“Yes sure” I replied, not that interested in what I assumed would be a sales bullshit.

“And I mean intense careers, to which the right sort of woman commits herself.”

“I am not sure just what you are getting at Cynthia, unless you mean nuns.”

She smiled. “Far from that my dear. Life in the executive suites of major corporations has changed in the past few years. It’s no longer a forty hour a week, with golf on a Friday afternoon. For the successful executive it is twenty-four seven, seven days a week, fifty two weeks of the year.”

“Ok.”

“Of course, the rewards have also increased, but the demands on the top managers are increasing at a much faster rate,” she went on refilling my cup from a china teapot. “So much so, that the, largely male executive population has to forgo holidays and weekends away, give up hobbies and sports and miss their families. They are unable to go to their kids’ sports or speech days, open evenings and the like. And of course Michaela they rarely see their wives.”

I had no idea where this narrative was going, but my ears pricked up when wives were mentioned.”

“They have no control over their time; every minute of every day is taken up, allotted and allocated. So much so, that their wives or partners often have to make diary appointments, often through the women we appoint to see their husband. Some even have to schedule time for their boss to make love to his partner.”

Although I did not quite buy all of that, I could see what she meant from my job with Gordon Adamson who was a very busy man indeed. She droned on.

“They need executive assistants who understand this. Who appreciates the pressure and the life-style. Assistants who are perfect at their job, on who they may rely totally and completely. They have to have assistants with utter discretion and loyalty. You see Michaela, we have to provide women who are as committed as the executives. Who are in their own way are as talented and as dedicated as the exec. Women, my dear, who will in effect give all for the good of her boss and the company.

That had been several months ago as I was just getting to know Cynthia and this grey world of upscale executive assistants. Now she was telling me that I had landed one of the top jobs in that field.

“He had researched you very comprehensively Michy,” Cynthia had told me before advising me that Richard wanted me.

“Yes I know that, he told me about it.”

“And you stood up well to that research.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well it showed him that you have what he is after, in addition of course to your organisational and other skills.”

“I am not sure I follow you Cynthia.”

“Well,……….. for instance…………” she said hesitantly. “He knows about your er, um fling shall we say with Gordon Adamson.”

“Oh fuck.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, lovey, that is a plus not a negative.

I was surprised that Sir Richard had managed to find out about my four and a bit years affair with Gordon. He was married with three grown up children and as far as the public knew he was the model of married bliss. Actually, overall he was, that is until we were in his office late in the evening when often he would fuck me laid back on his desk or bednt forward over the board room table.

“A plus?”

“Yes darling” she went on. “Although it is not and never will be in the job specs, an understanding attitude towards sex is critical to success in these roles.”

I understood that. I knew that men like Gordon and Richard did not offer the packages they did just to get business skills. What I had not realised was that there were head-hunters who found women with those ‘understanding attitudes.’ It hit me then what at least one of the psychometric tests I had taken was all about; my attitude towards casual sex, promiscuity and sexual morality.

As Cynthia had said, life in the executive suites certainly was changing!

“So the package darling is immense. A hundred k base, a guaranteed thirty per cent bonus and profit share, share options and of course all the usual bollocks about private health insurance, car etcetera etcetera.

*

The first few months of my new job were madness. They passed in a whirl of early mornings, late nights, working breakfasts, lunches and dinners and wall-to-wall meetings both for me and Richard. I had to familiarise myself with the organisation and the major players whilst, at the same time learning from my predecessor how to organise the great man. I had to read the hundred or so emails each day, which had already gone through two filters and provide a summary for him. I spent time in Richard’s private office in Knightsbridge and at the corporate head office in the Gherkin in the City. I travelled to the main subsidiaries in the UK and Europe, sometimes with Richard or another top executive, and visited the Canadian, US and Brazilian subsidiaries head offices. I travelled by the company helicopter and Gulfstream plane, limousines and first class air travel. I stayed at the very top hotels and entertained or was entertained at the smartest restaurants. It was a giddying induction into this new world.

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