Closest to the leader
Who is closest to the boss? His deputies? Not at all! The closest are his driver and secretary. The driver must keep the boss's car in perfect condition, be ready at any time of day or night to take the boss or his wife to one end of the world, then pick up the boss from the other end, in any state, deliver him home right to the door, and if needed, even to the sofa. Everything he hears in the car must under no circumstances leave the confines of the vehicle and must die with the driver.
The secretary is obliged to bring the boss coffee and all internal gossip, regulate the flow of employees and
visitors wanting to get into the office, make a pleasant impression on the latter, and also provide him with some... ahem... specific services. What else? Oh, right: keep all sorts of incoming and outgoing documents in order, distribute them among employees, and report the most important ones personally to the boss.For all this, if performed properly, both the secretary and the driver receive special privileges from the boss, including financial ones, the scope and list of which are determined personally by the boss. Begging, let alone demanding anything, is strictly prohibited.
Any attempt to violate these rules is punished unconditionally and harshly: for the first time – deprivation of privileges for an indefinite period, and in case of repetition – permanent removal from the master, regardless of work experience, professional qualities, age, gender, or the bust size of the offender. In exceptional cases – even in defiance of labor laws.
Both Pasha and Allochka suited me perfectly in all respects. Pasha drove the car, Allochka diligently performed secretarial duties, and from time to time helped me relax in the rest room adjoining the office, with the latter being done most willingly, creatively, and very professionally. For example, last week I got a reprimand from higher management. A reprimand, generally speaking, quite fair, but far too severe. To restore my upset feelings to order, I called the secretary:
"Allochka, come to me. Coffee with sugar."
"Coffee with sugar" – that's the signal. Allochka entered, clicked the lock.
"I'm all attention, Ivan Yegorovich!"
She came close, leaned on the desk opposite me. Through the neckline of her blouse, right before my eyes – oh, such appetizing breasts! How can one resist seeing such luxury?
I didn't even bother moving to the rest room. I stood up, walked around the desk, hugged the girl from behind, slipped my hands inside her blouse. Oh, how pleasant it is to feel in my palms those large, lush, firm, so enticing hemispheres!
Allochka playfully wiggled her bottom, turned her head:
"And?.."
"There," I indicated with my eyes.
To the uninitiated it's unclear, but Allochka habitually translated for herself: a blowjob isn't needed, just need to take off her tights and panties. But now even that isn't necessary, just pulling them down is enough.
The rest also happened without words. Returning the girl to the pose she had taken when she first entered, I bent her forward a little lower, unzipped my trousers, lifted her skirt, moistened the head with saliva, and quietly sank in.
Allochka purred contentedly. We both knew perfectly well that in this case her contented purring was just a little performance, but we pretended it was all real. She excelled at both receiving and giving pleasure, but now she just had to relieve the boss's stress, and Allochka masterfully played along.
The massive desk stood firm as a rock, I thrust deeply, as far as the pose allowed, into the willingly offered vagina. Once, twice, thrice... seventh... tenth...
Natural lubrication appeared. Allochka loved this business, and even such a brazen and completely selfish invasion of mine slowly aroused her. This, of course, noticeably added enthusiasm for me too, and very soon my scrotum tightened upward, a slight ringing appeared in my ears, heralding the finish...
I came, maybe not so violently and sharply, but, as always, sweetly and joyfully. I withdrew smoothly, turned the girl to face me, playfully pecked her on the nose:
"Sorry."
"You're welcome!" – Allochka jokingly tapped her finger on the not yet fully relaxed member.
For such occasions, wet wipes were always in the bottom drawer of the desk. I handed one to Allochka, used another myself. We tidied ourselves up, and the workday continued as usual.
I wasn't afraid of getting caught with Allochka. Firstly, I strictly forbade everyone, under threat of quartering, to burst into the office without being summoned or without a preliminary call, even in the most emergency situations like a Martian invasion or an epidemic of bubonic plague. Secondly, Allochka always locked the door from the inside when we had some departure from purely work-related matters planned. Well, and thirdly, and this is the most important, periodically fucking the secretary is not just a sovereign right, but, perhaps, a sacred duty of every normal boss.
This is known, as a rule, to both the staff and the boss's wife. And everything would be peaceful and calm, but then there are women! Women are such creatures that they don't let any team work normally, even one like ours, consisting of eighty percent men.
As a result, if not nipped in the bud, the team splits into groups conflicting with each other, adherents of one or another leading lady, work tasks take a back seat, and... And Allochka, who somehow received reliable information from unknown sources, and the special internal counterintelligence I set up from the first days in the managerial chair, usually reported to me in time about the next brewing confrontation. I took measures, as a result of which the energy of the mentioned ladies was directed into a constructive channel, and for a month or two one could calm down and work normally. After some time, everything repeated, and again I had to intervene.
What's interesting is that Lyudmila Petrovna and Vera Nikolaevna were in no way connected to each other, neither professionally nor personally.
The first is married (her husband, the slightly dim-witted and unnaturally jealous Vasilyok, worked for us as an electrician), the second is single.
The first is younger, the second is a bit older.
The first is usually tense and uptight, the second is always freely relaxed, sometimes even too much.
The first heads one of our services, the second is a leading employee of a completely different department.
One could list their differences for a long time, but that still doesn't make it clearer to the rational male mind what they are fighting about, because with all my desire I found only two common points in them, and even those unrelated to the matter.
First: both graduated from the same university, though from different faculties and at different times.
Second: both have a bust size clearly above average.
It started when Allochka entered the office (she was the only one with the right to do this without warning) and reported that a visitor had come to see me on a personal matter. Something in the secretary's face put me on alert, but I first simply reminded her not to overstep: like, there's a schedule for personal appointments hanging in the corridor next to the reception door, with days of the week and hours. It was Allochka's direct duty to brush off uninvited guests.
The girl in response handed me a note where she had written down the visitor's last name-first name-patronymic. The last name matched the last name of Lyudmila Petrovna and her husband, but the first name and patronymic meant nothing to me.
"?
"It's Vasilyok's mother."
Clear. Vasilyok's mother, also concurrently the mother-in-law of Lyudmila Petrovna. What does she want?
"Well, screw it. Let her come in."
An elderly, tearful woman entered, received an invitation to sit:
"Please, sit down! What brings you to me? What happened? Does Vasily have some problems? Tell me. Of course, I'll help if I can."
"Yes, problems. Ivan Yegorovich, as a mother, I beg you to stop the love affair with my daughter-in-law!"
And so on, and so forth. Through tears, she shamed me, badmouthed her daughter-in-law, pitied her son, and there was no way to stop her.
Of course, like everyone on our planet, I have had to listen to reproaches before about my various "incorrect" deeds. Like any other person, I denied or sought excuses, wriggled out, sometimes lied.
But that was in cases of my real transgressions! But here, I wasn't just not actually, but even in thoughts and fantasies, I was perfectly clean! It never even crossed my mind to have any relations with Lyudmila Petrovna other than purely professional ones!
My attempts to convey this thought to the visitor shattered completely against her ironclad argument:
"I saw it myself, how Mila entered the entrance of such-and-such house right after you! I saw it myself. Personally!"
Such-and-such house – that's the house where I indeed had an apartment, bought cheaply on occasion as a capital investment. And I appeared there sometimes so the neighbors wouldn't be tempted to consider the apartment ownerless. But with Lyudmila Petrovna?!
No, nothing even close to that happened. If she ever entered that entrance, it certainly wasn't to see me. Moreover, from the reports of my counterintelligence agents and Allochka, I knew for certain that Lyudmila Petrovna had been faithful to her Vasilyok both in the present and in the foreseeable past.
With great difficulty, I got rid of the crying woman, and, furious as hell, ordered Allochka to immediately deliver the ill-fated family pair to me on the carpet, alive, or better yet – dead!
Vasilyok's deceitful, stupid little eyes darted about, Lyudmila Petrovna was clearly upset and frightened. I yelled, sprayed saliva, stamped my feet, and threatened both with incredible punishments if they didn't quiet down the crazy old woman. Vasilyok made excuses: like, mom is a very elderly woman, not entirely healthy, and he would definitely talk to her. His wife fearfully remained silent, apparently expecting a continuation of the story at home in the evening.
In the end, I advised both to look for new jobs and kicked them out of the office. I poured a full glass of cognac, downed it in one gulp, and calmed down a little. As it turned out, I started calming down too early. The evening continuation of the story awaited not only Lyudmila Petrovna but also me: my wife subjected me to a harsh interrogation and a corresponding scene. Vasilyok's mother had come to work today not only to see me but also to see her.
And I was forced for the second time that day to justify myself for sins I hadn't committed!
By morning, I had cooled down. I had no business with Vasilyok at all, managed to make peace with my wife, and with Lyudmila Petrovna I had to go to a neighboring region to the district headquarters in a couple of days for a semi-annual cluster meeting. Replacing her on this business trip was impossible due to an acute lack of time.
There was also the jealous Allochka, who had certainly heard everything, but I reassured myself that she, if I really had a fling on the side, would have found out about it immediately.
Lyudmila Petrovna appeared at my summons with dark circles under her eyes, dull, tear-stained, and with a resignation letter of her own free will. I even felt sorry for her:
"How are you? Was there a storm at home?"
The woman hopelessly waved her hand. And only then did it dawn on me: the dim-witted Vasilyok had deliberately set up this provocation, involving his mother, no less dim-witted than himself! And all for the sake of this resignation letter that now lay before me on the desk.
I knew that Vasilyok had long and passionately dreamed of his wife staying home, not working – that way, he thought, she would have fewer temptations to run around with men.
Idiot!
Firstly, does he seriously plan to support a family on his pittance salary as an electrician? Lyudmila earns at least three times more than him! And secondly, as I already said, his wife doesn't run around with men, so as a result, the innocent one might be punished.
"Calm down. Everything will work out. Let's go over our trip the day after tomorrow one more time."
I tore the resignation letter into small pieces and threw it in the wastebasket. A faint spark of hope flashed in the eyes of the woman sitting opposite me.
The first day of the meeting went as usual: reports for the past period, plans and prospects, remarks, considerations, proposals. The bosses in the presidium resolved all issues in a businesslike manner, praised successes, scolded for mistakes and omissions. Then – running around the headquarters offices: taking advantage of the occasion, we all wanted to resolve, coordinate, settle something.
In the evening, we gathered at the hotel, in the room of one of my comrades: about ten men and one woman – Angela, a colleague of my Lyudmila Petrovna from a small republic. We set the table with what each had brought from their region, but only Angela got to sit, because the room was small. The guys drank and snacked standing up.
"And where is Milochka? Why isn't she here?"
"Yeah, Yegorych, where's Lyuda? Bring her here."
"What's she doing alone? Call her..."
I dialed on my mobile once, twice, three times – the line was busy.
"Probably talking to home. I'll go check now."
I rushed out into the corridor. Her room wasn't far, in the same wing and on the same floor. I approached, knocked – Lyudmila Petrovna opened, pressed a finger to her lips: like, shh, I'm on the phone. With gestures, she invited me to come in and sit. There was nowhere to sit: the only chair in the microscopic room was occupied by a coat, obviously thrown off in haste. I had to land on the narrow bed and wait.
While I, looking around the room, waited for her conversation with Vasilyok to end (and who else?!), I got cold. Finally, after kissing for the hundredth time and swearing that she was alone in the room, Lyudmila Petrovna finally ended the call, put down her mobile phone.
"Excuse me, Ivan Yegorovich! I'm listening."
"It's cold in here! Won't you freeze at night?"
"There's a draft from the windows. Look, everything's iced over. And the radiators are barely warm. Sixteen degrees on the thermometer! Well, it's okay, somehow."
"Let's go to our company. Everyone is waiting for you, and Angela simply categorically ordered me not to return without you."
"Yes, of course! Let's go, Ivan Yegorovich."
The company was great. We drank a little, argued, joked, laughed, shared opinions, told jokes. Lyudmila Petrovna – would you believe it! – told a couple of very spicy ones.
But – the meeting continued in the morning, so soon we had to disperse