Call her in.

You clear your throat.

"Um, Jennifer..."

"Yes, Roger?" your secretary efficiently responds over the intercom.

"I...uh...was wondering if you could come in here and help us with something. You see..."

"I'll be right in," she replies, obviously thrown by your awkwardness.

"Uh..." You begin, wondering if it was the wrong idea, but knowing that Jennifer is on her way to your office door right then.
Your wife walks over to the door and unlocks it just a second or two before the door opens. When Jennifer steps in, she stops dead, her eyes wide, mouth dropping open.

"Um, I'm so sorry, Roger..." she stammers, barely noticing your wife's sticky smiling face and disheveled hair -- her eyes being drawn to your stiff throbbing cock.

"Jennifer," your wife begins, sitting down on the edge of your desk and resting a hand on your shoulder, grinning. "I wasn't feeling so well, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind giving me a hand here."

"A hand?" Jennifer asks, the meaning behind your wife's words not registering.

"Well," Claire begins. "If that's what you want to use, a hand will do fine." Her smile widens as she rises and stands behind you, presenting you to her.

Jennifer looks to her, shock wearing off.

Your heart pounds, wondering if you've let the game go too far but still wanting Jennifer to say yes. You've often watched her bend over to reach the bottom drawer of the file cabinet and eyed her breasts in a few of the dress shirts she didn't often button high enough. You're certain she's noticed this, but it hasn't made her uncomfortable, not how this may have been.

"What do you say?" your wife purrs.