With my secretary, Stacey

The promotion had come along with a personal secretary, Stacey Kahn. Stacey was considerably older than I was, in her early forties, and time hadn't been kind. During a cantankerous marriage and then subsequent divorce she'd put on significant weight— at 5'7, she was at least 200lbs — and had noticeably aged. She didn't dress the part, though: she universally wore short, tight colorful dresses that somewhat uncomfortably highlighted her bulging round stomach and large pillowy ass, with deep v-necklines and eye-catching necklaces to draw attention to what was admittedly her best asset: her large, pendulous, but unfortunately age-sagged breasts. Strappy heels highlighted her wide, mostly-formless thighs; she had tousled dark hair and thin, slightly dated glasses, and a smear of pink lipstick added a dash of desperation to the look. She was a lush, and was known for being flirty at office parties after a few drinks in a way that left most people uncomfortable.

I felt sorry for her, and to be honest, a bit curious where things had gone wrong in her life. Our company had an internal directory where people could pictures and facts about themselves; one night I found myself browsing through her entries. Even in her early photos she'd carried some extra weight around and looked somehow older than she should, but the last few years were certainly a steep decline, albeit one she seemed to try to stave off with enthusiasm and slightly-too-racy photos. Her final picture was of her in a bikini on a beach, alone, clutching some kind of sweet-looking drink with an umbrella in it. I shook my head, feeling sad for her.

Jane and I had slowed our sex lives down after the baby was born, and while this was a pretty far cry from a turn-on, it at least reminded me of how long it'd been since we'd last had sex. The office was quiet, and I judged pretty much everyone had gone home; this probably wasn't the best idea, but I had a private office now, and so I fired up an incognito window and decided to take care of myself before heading home, where I certainly couldn't indulge.

A few minutes later, I heard a click as someone opened the door behind me. I'd forgotten to lock it. Panicked, I frantically switched windows as I turned to look behind me, trying to stuff my rock-hard erection back in my pants.

"John?" Stacey asked, poking her head in. Her heavily-done-up eyes flew open like a bomb had gone off.

I looked back at my screen. I'd hidden the porn, definitely... By switching back to the picture of Stacey in a bikini. I had not successfully hidden my dick, which was still firmly in my hands.

Stacey stepped into the room with a predatory grin. She did not forget to lock the door. "Oh John, John, John..." she began.

"It's not what it looks like," I croaked.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," she said, striding confidently towards my chair where I was still trying to shove my dick back in my pants. I noticed she was carrying a full glass of wine; I wondered if it was her first. "I've thought you were hot for a while now too." She leaned over me, extending a chunky arm towards my crotch and giving me a view straight down her shirt. "All you had to do was ask," she breathed into my ear, fishing her hand into my pants and preventing me from recovering. She began to slowly stroke me up and down. "We're going to have so much fun together."

My mind was racing for a quick way out. I knew what this looked like, and convincing her otherwise would be difficult. "I'm married," I blurted out.

She laughed, and pressed her thick lips against mine in a quick peck, still slowly stroking. "I know, John."

"I'm sorry, as much as I want this," I started, figuring I'd give her the white lie, "I can't do this."