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The Typist

I wrote this one in 2009, and I’m afraid technology has rather overtaken it with all these mobile apps offering book-keeping and tax services online. Just think of it as a ‘period’ piece, a story that was, ‘of its time.’

She picked up the phone on its second ring, professionalism and efficiency in her voice, ‘Good Morning, Annabelle’s secretarial services.’

‘Good morning Annabelle, it’s Paul Davis here. I’m just calling to see how the work is progressing. The deadline for publication’s been changed, and I need it as soon as possible. Is there any chance of getting it today?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘that’ll be okay, I’m working on it now. It should be ready about four o’ clock this afternoon. I’ll send it by first class post – which means you should get it tomorrow morning.’

‘No, don’t post it. I’ll call round and collect it about four thirty if that’s all right with you?’

‘Yes, that’s fine, I’ll see you about four thirty then, ‘bye,’ and she replaced the phone on the receiver, hardly believing what she’d just heard. Call and collect it – at last she’d meet the mysterious Paul Davis face to face.

On being made redundant, Annabelle had started a small business service using her spare bedroom as, ‘the office,’ to cut down on overheads. She knew that most small businesses couldn’t afford to employ full time secretarial staff, but didn’t want to appear, ‘amateur,’ to their clients. The professional presentation, and expertise of, ‘Annabelle’s Secretarial Services,’ was the answer, and soon she was in great demand. She had been recommended to Paul Davis, by a mutual business acquaintance, and had started typing his manuscripts about a year ago. Until today, all contact had been by telephone or post.

Sitting at the keyboard of her word processor, Annabelle found it difficult to concentrate on her work. The problem was double edged; the prospect of meeting the author, and the nature of the piece she was working on. She always found it difficult to concentrate when typing his work. She made a supreme effort to keep her mind on the job at hand, telling herself if she didn’t he’d be here to collect it and she’d never be finished in time.

He wrote short stories for erotic magazines and journals, and Annabelle had to admit to herself, from day one, that she found his stories exciting. Often, when typing some highly descriptive passage, she would become aware of that familiar, “butterfly,” feeling in her stomach, and then a sudden hot wetness between her legs. She would start to squirm around restlessly in her chair, and usually ended up touching herself to relieve the irrepressible sensations in her pussy.

As she typed, trying hard to concentrate, the story became steadily more explicit, the situations and descriptive passages ever more erotic. Annabelle, despite her resolve to concentrate, felt her excitement building higher in pace with the story. Her nipples were tingling with excitement, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to squeeze them from time to time. Eventually she couldn’t resist any longer, and getting up from her desk, went through to the bedroom.

She studied herself in the full length mirror for a moment or two. ‘Annabelle, you’re such a horny cow,’ she told herself out loud, as she pushed her skirt up to reveal long shapely legs. She hurriedly pulled down her tights and panties, and kicking off her shoes, removed the flimsy underwear entirely. Looking at her reflection she saw a tall, attractive woman, with dark, shoulder length hair. She was proud of her figure; slim, but with soft womanly curves. Her breasts were big without being too big, and as she opened her blouse and squeezed them through the bra, they felt heavy, but tender and very responsive.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the skirt up to her waist, and looked at her reflection again. She squeezed her nipples with one hand, and watched as her other hand stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs. Her skin felt so very sensitive! Spreading her legs wider, she could see the pink folds of her labia, and her clitoris protruding from its usual hiding place. Her dark pussy hair was trimmed very short, for she loved looking at herself in the mirror, and the normal luxuriant growth, if left to its own devices, concealed what she liked to see.

‘Mmm,’ she moaned breathlessly, as she watched and felt her middle finger part the wet silky folds of her sex. The penetration of her finger released a further copious flood of juice, and Annabelle sensuously smeared it over her lips and clitoris. She pulled her lips apart, using both hands, the stretching sensation Turangüneş Escort so pleasant, and looked at her blatant pose in the mirror. ‘Maybe I should pose like this for magazines,’ she said to herself, and the thought of exposing herself like this publicly, instead of privately, was strangely exciting to her. She grew even more excited as she imagined herself posing, legs wide apart, her big tits exposed, and being seen by thousands of horny men and women. She frantically rubbed her pussy, peaking in a delicious and powerful orgasm as she rubbed and circled her clitoris with slippery fingers.

Seated back at her desk, she began to type again, and made better progress now, although she could still feel some small residual sexual tension in the pit of her stomach. Her excitement began to rise again as the story developed. She tried to ignore it, but despite herself, she was aware that her pussy, already wet, was growing wetter still.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she told herself, ‘he’ll be here soon. I’m sure he’ll be able to smell my cunt,’ but the thought far from making her concentrate, produced another tremor in her pussy, and another trickle of hot fluid from her open lips.

The doorbell rang, startling her out of her reverie. Surely it couldn’t be him already, it was too early, she thought, looking at her watch. It was only four o’clock. She hurried to the door, feeling flustered and vulnerable, suddenly very aware that she had no panties on under her short skirt.

She opened the door, heart beating faster. A tall, dark haired man stood there, good looking, very good looking, was her instantaneous appraisal. ‘Hi, you must be Annabelle, I’m Paul – sorry I’m a bit early,’ and he reached out his hand to shake hers. She took the offered hand, firm, but gentle, not a bone crusher. She hated men who tried to show their strength by crushing a woman’s hand.

‘Please come in Paul, I’m afraid it’s not ready yet. I’ve had a few interruptions, and you’re a little earlier than expected.’ She blushed as she thought of her interruptions.

‘Never mind,’ she nervously gushed, ‘there’s not much left, and I’ll soon have it finished. Would you like something while you wait, tea, coffee?’

‘No thanks, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I don’t want to interrupt your work,’ he replied, as he followed her back into the office. ‘I thought, perhaps if I dictated the last few passages to you, it would help, and we’d get it finished quicker,’ he offered.

‘Yes, well… it might,’ she replied, humouring him, as she picked up the manuscript. ‘OK, I’m at this bit, so let’s take it from there,’ she explained, handing it to him, and sitting down at the keyboard. She had to admit she found him attractive; tall and broad shouldered, what she would call, ‘manly,’ and probably in his early thirties.

‘Say, “when,” and if I’m going too fast, just tell me to slow down,’ he said.

‘O.K, I’m ready,’ she replied, and he began to read in a steady, measured way, as she typed. He paced around the room, as he read aloud, his rich voice reading the erotic tale giving her goose bumps, and re-starting the warm flow of her excitement. ‘My god, it’s such a wonderfully wicked, and dirty little story,’ she thought with amusement.

She caught sight of him in her peripheral vision as he wandered about the room. She typed steadily. When he nonchalantly strolled round in front of her desk, manuscript in hand, still reading, she could barely suppress a shudder of excitement as she noticed he was hard! A very noticeable erection was pushing out the front of his black slacks.

He read on, apparently unaware of the havoc he was creating with Annabelle’s breathing and pussy. ‘Concentrate, concentrate,’ she thought raggedly, but the unstoppable sensations in her pussy were making it even more difficult to think straight. Paul continued to walk about the room as he read, and Annabelle struggled valiantly to keep her mind on her work. Eventually she was aware that he had stopped his pacing and was standing, reading, close behind her.

It may have been an unconscious gesture, but as he read one of the final sexy passages, Paul’s hand came to rest, lightly on her shoulder. It was too much for Annabelle, and her excitement, already suppressed for too long, broke through her flimsy guard. Feeling the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she couldn’t contain a small shudder and moan of pleasure. Her heart hammering, she leaned back against Paul, rubbing her shoulder blades against his hardness.

Paul dropped the manuscript on the desk, and as she looked Türbanlı Escort up at him, he bent lower and kissed her parted lips gently. His tongue probed deeply, and she responded with enthusiasm, her mouth open, and hungry with desire. Sliding his hands under the neckline of her white blouse, he cupped and squeezed her breasts and nipples. She moaned helplessly. Her breasts felt heavy, and so incredibly sensitive as her squeezed her through the skimpy bra.

Somehow, and she could never remember how it happened afterwards, she was standing on shaky legs, in the bedroom with Paul. She watched in a daze as his strong hands unbuttoned her blouse. He slid it off her shoulders, and she shivered with delight as he kissed her bare shoulders and neck. His hands stroked the skin of her back, kissing the exposed flesh of her bra-encased breasts. She felt the slight pressure of his hands at her back, and the sudden unsupported weight of her full breasts as the bra came free. Paul continued to kiss her lips, smothering her token protests, with gentle, but insistent kisses. The loosened straps slid from her shoulders,, and Paul stood back a little, taking the bra with him, pulling the cups away to reveal her firm rounded breasts. ‘Oh Annabelle,’ he whispered, ‘you’re perfect, just perfect,’ and she trembled with happiness and pleasure at his words and gaze. The first soft suckling of her nipples almost made her swoon with intense desire.

She’s always been proud of her breasts. Not just the size, but also the firmness, the perfect rounded shape, the sensitivity. The small dark areolae were crowned by large brownish pink nipples, which responded to the slightest touch. Her nipples were often so swollen and tender that she couldn’t wear even the slightest, flimsiest bra. It was at times like these that Annabelle, who also loved the feel of a cool, silk blouse against her tits, would further inflame herself by squeezing her nipples through the sensual fabric, thus maintaining the lovely sensations.

Paul continued to pleasure her breasts and nipples with unrestrained delight, and she felt the heat in her cunt become unbearable. ‘Paul, let me sit down,’ she pleaded, as her legs grew increasingly shaky and weak, and pulling reluctantly away, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Paul sat close beside her, continuing the gently persistent attack on her meagre defences. ‘Paul. Please stop, it’s all happening too soon,’ she protested in a weak and tremulous voice. It was a token resistance at best, and she knew it. With a shock of excitement which crushed all further resistance, she realised his hand was under the hem her skirt, caressing her thighs. Her legs felt weak and languorous, and she instinctively opened wider allowing him unhindered access to her most intimate core. Now she was desperate for his touch, but he lingered on her smooth skin, pushing her legs wider still, caressing her inner thighs.

‘Touch me Paul, please touch me now, please,’ and she pulled her skirt right up to her waist to let him see her cunt, hoping the sight would hasten his touch. He paused to look at her, which only served to increase her excitement, and she tilted her pelvis, offering herself up to him. This time there was no hesitation, but instead of the expected touch of his hand, he swooped low and let his tongue slip between her parted pussy lips. Annabelle went wild, her hips bucking up and down as she writhed in ecstasy. Thrusting, and pushing her clitoris against the soft pressure of his tongue, she orgasmed, then again. A long shuddering climax, with peak after peak of exquisite pleasure.

Annabelle lay on the bed, exhausted, in a state of utter euphoria. She was dimly aware of Paul undressing, and although she didn’t realise it, her legs were still spread wide in a gesture of blatant invitation. She closed her eyes, in that blissful state between sleep and wakefulness. She didn’t feel Paul get on the bed beside her, but was instantly awake as she felt his hard cock nudge against her labia, and slide all the way home, filling her to the brim. ‘Oh no, I can’t take anymore,’ she protested, but she was wrong. Her fatigue disappeared as if by magic as her pussy responded with enthusiasm to Paul’s driving cock. A wave of pure pleasure swept over her with each stroke and the pressure of her excitement grew, almost as if his cock was a pump, inflating her with pure joy. She was close to climax now, the pressure so strong she thought she would explode, and as Paul quickened his thrusting she exploded. Like a dam bursting, the waves swept over her, again and again. She Ukraynalı Escort felt as though her entire life force had being drained and somehow refilled through her cunt-hole with burning, pulsating pleasure.

Almost thankfully, she felt the intense floods of pleasure begin to subside, to be replaced by a warm, throbbing glow, but Paul continued to move inside her. He groaned loudly, and she felt a sudden hot flow in her cunt. Her dying orgasm flared back into life, and her pussy sucked and clenched at his cock, the distended lips a ring of pleasure round his shaft, like an eager mouth trying to suck and milk the last drops of his come. She arched her back and hips off the bed, trying to impale herself ever deeper on his cock. Finally, they both collapsed, and lay, sated and exhausted on the bed. She remembered Paul unfastening her skirt, removing it and throwing it out of the bed, and then she slept.

When Annabelle woke it was dark. She got out of bed and almost fell. Her legs felt funny, week and trembly. She smiled ruefully, as a glob of something viscous trickled stickily down the inside of one leg. There was a note beside the keyboard. ‘Finished the last page myself – you looked so beautiful and contented I didn’t have the heart to waken you. Left a cheque for the typing – Paul.’ Annabelle’s happiness drained away instantly. After all that had happened this afternoon, Annabelle felt hurt and confused. Tears welled up in her eyes.

‘Oh God,’ she mumbled, ‘he must think I’m a complete slut.’ She had rather thrown herself at him, she reasoned, and who could blame him for taking what she offered so freely. Would she ever see him again, and could she look him straight in the eyes without being overcome by shame?

Two days went by, and she heard nothing from him. She decided it was just a one-off thing as far as he was concerned. He’d used her, and tossed her aside without another thought. Her pride was badly dented, and emotionally she was in absolute confusion. One moment she raged at him for being so callous, and the next she would be blaming herself. It was all her fault for being such a cheap, hot-arsed tart. She busied herself with her work, and tried, unsuccessfully, to forget the whole thing.

Sorting through next morning’s mail, her heart leaped as she recognised Paul’s writing on the familiar brown package. They had returned to postal contact she realised, confirming her worst fears. She tore open the package; another manuscript for her to type. Usually there was a gap of a couple of weeks between stories, so he must have been working hard to produce another so soon, she realised. This time, instead of going straight to the typewriter, she sat down and started to read.

With growing amazement, she realised that the story was about her, or rather, them. It was their story, on paper. An author seduces his typist, and as she became immersed in the story, she realised that she was getting wet again. Half way through, she took off her panties, and slowly manipulated her clitoris and labia as she read with soaring excitement. This was the most erotic story he’d ever written. She never reached the end. Her fingers teased and probed, and the manuscript dropped from her hand as she orgasmed violently.

It was with mixed emotions that Annabelle later sat down to type the manuscript. It was a great story, exciting, but also very flattering in the ways he described her body, face and voice. Her pussy burned as she read descriptions of her, ‘perfect breasts,’ and the, ‘incredible wetness,’ of her aroused pussy. It was like looking at herself in a full-length mirror, but through someone else’s eyes.

‘Why didn’t he bring it himself?’ she asked herself out loud. ‘Just shows that he wants to return to how it used to be – business first.’ Her fingers pecked viciously at the keyboard, as her story unfolded. Despite her resentment, she became excited once more as the story unfolded, but tried desperately to ignore her feelings and get the job done. ‘Thank god,’ she said aloud as she turned to the last page. She felt a headache coming on from trying to suppress her excitement, and now she just wanted to get it finished, and have a long soak in the bath.

She typed the last paragraph in mounting disbelief. Her headache was forgotten as she read the last few sentences. ‘The writer always delivered, and collected his manuscripts in person from that day forward. Never again would he risk losing something so precious by using the postal service.’

There was a P.S. ‘May I call to collect my manuscript when it’s ready?’ it was signed – ‘Love – Paul xxx.’ Annabelle reached for the phone. It rang twice, and her insides melted at the sound of his voice. ‘Hello, Paul speaking.’

‘Good morning Mr Davis,’ Annabelle said in her most businesslike voice. ‘I just called to let you know – your manuscript is ready.’ She paused, arousal making her voice low and sensual. ‘And so am I – please hurry Paul.’

* * *

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