At Frank

She drives out of the city and to his house. She knows that Frank lives alone now that he is divorced. She parks, check her makeup and walks up to the door. When Frank opens it his jaw hits the floor. “C-come in.” She sashays past him, knowing that he is drinking in her body.

He places his hand on her lower back, almost on the rise of her butt and leads her to the den. Sandra sits on the sofa and carefully crosses her legs so that she doesn’t flash him her uncovered pussy.

Frank sits down next to Sandra, his eyes slowly moving up her legs, over her stomach and breasts before resting on her eyes. His slow, deliberate gaze makes her want to squirm, but she forces herself to hold still. She can feel her nipples tighten as he looked at her breasts. Knowing that there was no way to hide her excitement made her even hornier. Frank places his hand on her thigh. “Honestly I wasn’t expecting this treat.” He squeezes it softly. “Unfortunately, this isn’t appropriate work attire.”

“Well then it’s good that we aren’t at work. Otherwise Bridgette would be complaining and all of the guys would be glancing at what I have to offer all of the time and get nothing done.”

Frank slides his hand up her thigh as he leans in, his breath hot on her neck. “No they wouldn’t because you would be in my office all day for a meeting.”

Sandra trembles at his touch wanting more. “I’d suspect that if it is like today’s meeting that you would run out of tissues.”

He leans back, caressing her leg and laughs. “Yes, that may be an issue.” He looks her over again, her hard nipples obvious under the tight, thin shirt. “I know what I would love seeing you wear at work, but it is a professional environment.”

Sandra uncrosses and recrosses her legs, causing his hand to move from her outer thigh to her inner thigh. The thought of where his hand could slide now causes her to shudder. “Well let’s start with what you would like for me to wear that is professional.”

He squeezes her thigh harder. “More skirts. Preferably ones that show off your knees. Also I think you should wear heels.” He looks at the ones she has on. “Not these per say.”

“You don’t like these heels?”

“I love these, but I think we both can agree that they aren’t the most professional looking heels you have.” He looks her in the eyes, trying to make a decision. He stands. “Stay.” The single word command makes her shiver and he leaves the room. He returns and hands Sandra a pink leather collar that has the word “SLUT” made out of small rounded metal studs. “Put this on. I want it tight on your neck.”

Sandra looks up at her boss for a minute.