My Secret Affair With My Boss

My Secret Affair With My Boss

The first thing I noticed about him was the constant mischievous twinkle in his hazel blue eyes. His jaw, strong and square, almost as if God used a chisel to curve to precision, portrayed an air of arrogant masculinity. He would throw his head back each time he laughed with a bellow that seemed to vibrate across the board room.

Watching him stroll into the office, his briefcase in hand, left me feeling weak. He had the uncanny ability to drain all quips from my head, leaving my mouth dry and blubbering.  I craved him more than chocolates, but I refused to succumb to the stereotype of the young attaché who screws the boss. He was married with three young children and was in his forties while I was twenty-five, free and untethered. His wife was a silent partner in the law firm we worked in, which made my crush all the more complicated.

I had worked in the firm for about eleven months, struggling to gain recognition and advancement in my job while at the same time dodging the husky boss who gave nothing away. There were no winks, no lingering looks or touches, nor favouritism, just an aloof air of power.

All this changed on Christmas Eve.

Our team was out celebrating a successful year when I first felt his eyes on me. I dismissed it as wishful thinking, but a few glasses of wine later, my mouth was on his, and he was grinding on me against the bathroom wall as we clumsily fumbled with our belt buckles. My brain was in a haze, trying to digest how he could go from complete indifference to unbridled passion. After several swift orgasms in the cubicle, we returned to the table and our unsuspecting colleagues.

The following day, the team went to the beach for a final celebration lap, where we discreetly touched each other up and whispered sexy things into each other’s ears. By the time we left, I was very wet and horny. We sat on the back seat on our way back, and he slid his fingers into my sweet spot, driving me wild with each road bump.  My coochie was soaking wet. Once we got to our hotel, we went back to get our bags, and as I leaned over the backseat, he grabbed my waist, pulled my bikini bottoms to the side, and pushed his cock inside of me.  I moaned as he rubbed my clit, throwing all caution to the wind. Before we could finish, we heard our colleagues coming towards us, and we had to pretend that nothing had happened. That evening marked the end of our retreat and soon we were headed back to our humdrum life.

At first, we agreed that the relationship was a one-off thing and could never be repeated or acknowledged. This became hard, though, as our relationship gained momentum of its own, and before we could realize it, we were fucking every day. We would do it early in the morning before anyone arrived or during a quick trip to the washrooms. Sometimes once the last person left the office, or he would pretend to give me a ride to and from work, where we would release our energies on the back seat of his car in obscure backstreets.

The passion in our affair was electric, leaving my heartbeat thumping furiously whenever we were close. Still, we maintained an air of indifference around each other because of our work, knowing everything had to remain a secret. The lies were an uncomfortable side effect of the delirium I felt in his arms and worth it.

Five months after our toilet excursion, we were slumped on the office floor after an intense fucking session when he whispered that he loved me and was ready to leave his wife for me.  He had never had an extramarital affair, and this had been something he had hoped would fizzle out but hadn’t.  He confided in me the boredom he experienced in his marriage, nights spent in the bathroom masturbating to free porn, and the constant desire to experiment and explore his sexuality.

He was ready to tell his wife, but we opted to talk to the company directors before proceeding to see his legal stand in case his wife did not take it well. I was secretly elated because this disclosure gave our relationship some permanence. He suspected that some of the directors already knew, and he wanted to forestall any eventuality. The directors were okay with it, and some even suggested we appeared to be the perfect couple.

When he disclosed the same to his wife, she surprisingly understood going further to suggest she had also strayed from the marriage. This commitment encouraged me, and I was ready to let go of my rent-controlled apartment to live closer to my soon-to-be family. Our sex life continued with a lot more boldness where we would fuck in parks and even open parking lots. This felt real.

Two weeks later, I learned that he had not moved out of his house, and neither had his wife. When I confronted him, he texted that he could no longer be with me and had decided to give his marriage a second chance. Before I could say a thing, he blocked me on all his social media platforms. My days became a blur. I could no longer look up from my desk, and my life became unbearable.

Three weeks after our breakup, I walked into the office feeling lost and discouraged, and there he was, vigorously grinding on his wife, on the same desk he had vowed to love me forever. I stood transfixed as I watched them, and before I knew it, I was masturbating to their rhythmic lovemaking. I was sure he knew I was there, and that seemed to invigorate him. Just as I was about to climax, he looked directly at me and smiled. I ran out in shame. That was my breaking point, and the day I tendered my resignation.

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