NSFW (Regular Sex Issue #6)

Regular
Sex 6 ~ NSFW

By

Kitty
French

Welcome to the sixth issue of
Regular Sex, the brand new series of sexy half hour reads guaranteed to make
sure your weekend starts with a bang!

Enjoy, and remember to check out
issue 7 next Friday.

Happy reading,

Love Kitty x

Regular Sex ~ Issue 6 ~ NSFW

It’s normal to
fantasise about your boss, right? If you saw my boss, you’d fantasise about him
too. He’s like David Duchovny’s better-looking brother, and I don’t know what cologne
he wears, but it makes me want to hump his leg whenever he comes within six
feet of me. I’ve been his secretary for the last six months and he’s been the
only man I’ve thought about when I’ve orgasmed since the day I set eyes on him.
It’s just a shame he’s never the man underneath me at the time. Or on top of
me. Or that one time in the changing rooms at the gym... anyway, you get the
picture. Other men have been scratching my itch, but they never seem to quite
hit my spot until I close my eyes and think about Anderton Spencer and come
like a howling wolf.

There is an
important meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning. He sent me a memo this afternoon
to make sure I’ve got everything prepped down to the last degree, and unusually
he signed off with a reminder for me to dress appropriately. I read the line through
twice, unsure what to make of it. I turn it over and over in my head, wondering
what it means until curiosity finally gets the better of me as I pull my coat
on to leave. I tap on his door and catch his eye through the glass.

‘Just to let you
know that I’m all set for tomorrow’s meeting,’ I say as I pop my head around
the door and smile. ‘You can rely on me to make sure it runs like clockwork,
Mr. Spencer.’

He smiles. ‘Where
would I be without you, Jenna?’

I let my
uncertain smile hover on my mouth. ‘Can I ask you something else, sir?’ I call
him sir every now and then, more for my own pleasure than his. ‘Have I been
dressing inappropriately for work?’

He looks taken
aback. ‘Not at all.’

‘It’s just that
your email...’

His face clears. ‘Oh,
that. It was a little joke. Because the meeting tomorrow is with the board of a
proposed naturist village?’

He watches me
process his words.

‘So you want me
to wear... gardening clothes? Dungarees?’

He frowns,
forcing me to elaborate.

‘Dirt under my
fingernails, butterfly catching net at the ready?’

He narrows his
eyes, and then after a few seconds he starts to laugh. ‘You’re getting
confused. You’re thinking of naturalists. These people are naturists. It’s very
different.’ He pauses and steeples his fingers on the desk. ‘They’re nudists,
Jenna.’

Whoa. So tomorrow’s
meeting has just got a lot more interesting.

‘As in naked?’

He shrugs. ‘In
this case, naked and very rich.’

I smile. ‘And we
want to convince them that we’re the right people to manage their building
project, right?’ I glance at the complex site plans pinned to the board on his office
wall. Jeez, it looks huge. A full scale village. No wonder he’s insisting
everything is bang on when we see these people.

Anderton Spencer
looks me right in the eye. ‘We do. Let’s work closely together on this tomorrow
and get that contract in the bag.’

I flush, because
I’m not sure how to interpret his words. They sound like a come on but they
could be completely innocent, a changing room pep talk designed to fire me up.
I leave the building in a hurry, because I’m not going to leave anything to
chance; I’ve suddenly got a full schedule of waxing and buffing to get
underway.

I shower and dress
carefully for work the following morning, trying to ensure I cover all
eventualities.

Anderton is
already in his office when I arrive even though I’m almost an hour early, and I
take him a strong, freshly brewed coffee and lay a friendly hand on his
shoulder.

‘All set for
today?’

He picks the mug
up and drinks gratefully, closing his eyes for a second as he savours the rich
pleasure in his mouth. I privately savour the pleasure of his expression at the
same time; is this how he looks when he has sex? I let my gaze move to his
full, slightly parted lips. Would he kiss me back if I kissed him now? Or would
he be shocked and push me away; fire me even? Putting the moves on your boss is
certainly a sackable offence. God, how I’d love to get him in the sack.
Thankfully, he opens his eyes before I can do something stupid and risk my job.

‘Yes,’ he
confirms. ‘All set. Is the meeting room ready?’

I nod.

‘Good girl,’ he
says, and then glances at his watch. ‘Let’s show them what we’re made of today. 

Back at my desk,
I ponder his words. Show them what we’re made of. I wonder...

I meet the delegates
in the atrium when they arrive right on time, six in all, four men and two
women. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but they all look like perfectly
normal, middle of the road people. And they’re all fully dressed, which wasn’t
a given for this crowd.

‘This way please.’
I smile warmly. ‘Mr. Spencer is waiting for you in the boardroom.’

I lead them into
the lift, and as we ascend I make polite small talk.

‘Has it warmed up
outside now? It was bitter when I came into work earlier.’ I’m silently
wondering what naturists do in cold weather. Huddle up? I listen to their
murmured replies and nod appropriately as the mirrored lift doors slide open. I
lead them along the plush corridor to the meeting room and click open the door
handle. I know Anderton is already inside, I left him there not five minutes
previously when we made a final run through to make sure everything is in
place.

The presentation
Anderton has spent the best part of the week preparing? Cued.

Coffee? Brewed
and aromatic.

Morning pastries,
yoghurt and fresh fruit? Bought and artfully arranged on a platter in the
centre of the large, rectangular glass table.

‘The delegates
have arrived, Mr. Spencer,’ I murmur, and then step aside to hold the door for
them to file in and take their seats around the table.

Anderton takes
one end and I take the other so that I can operate the slides and clips that
accompany his presentation.

Every eye in the
room is on him as he begins to speak, and I settle in and soak up the pleasure
of watching him do what he does best. Natural charm and charisma drips from
Anderton Spencer like honey from a spoon. There’s a quiet authority to his
voice, a rich confidence, a trustworthy aura that says you can believe in me
because I’m a man who knows what he’s doing. I cross my legs under the table
and squeeze my thighs together. I bet he knows what he’s doing in bed.

I click the
presentation closed as his speech draws to an end and he throws it open to the
floor for questions.

Their responses
are guardedly optimistic, and then Mr. Barone, their mahogany tanned senior
partner, clears his throat.

‘Well, Mr.
Spencer, I have to say you talk a good game. I’m impressed with what I’ve heard
and seen here today so far.’

There’s a general
murmur of assent, and I watch one of the women delicately tear a croissant and
pop a piece into her mouth.

‘There is one
area that you haven’t touched on yet though,’ Barone sounds thoughtful,
twirling the chunky gold signet ring he’s wearing on his pinky finger.

Anderton watches
him with a clear, open expression. ‘Shoot,’ he says, encouraging Barone to go
on.

‘Well, as you
know, we’re a naturist organisation. We don’t wear clothes unless it’s
absolutely necessary, and certainly never on site at the village.’

Anderton nods,
completely unfazed. ‘I fully respect that.’

‘But will your
workers? Your construction workers, your plumbers, in fact any of your workers
who will be on site? Does your organisation understand our organisation’s specialist
needs? ‘

‘Are you asking
me if everyone in my employ is comfortable about seeing naked bodies, Mr.
Barone? Because if you are, then I can assure you that the answer is yes. Obviously
I can’t promise you that my on site workers will be able to comply with a
requirement to be naked themselves though - I’m sure you understand there are certain
health and safety regulations that come into play there.’

Anderton’s eyes
gleam, and Mr. Barone seems impressed by his answer.  

‘And you, Mr.
Spencer?’ Barone says. ‘When you visit, how comfortable will you be with
nakedness?’

There is a
charged silence in the room for a few long moments, and then Anderton reaches
for the knot of his tie and slowly drags it loose. He slides it from around his
neck, rolls it up, and lays it on the table.

When his assured
fingers remove the cufflinks from his shirt I realise what he’s going to do and
my heart starts to beat faster. How far will he go to prove he’s the right man
for the job? Oh Jesus, he’s unbuttoning the buttons down the front of his
shirt. This is the stuff my fantasies are made of; I just wish there weren’t
six strangers in the room watching him with me.

You could hear a
pin drop in here right now. No one moves so much as an eye muscle. Who would? I
certainly can’t take my eyes off his body as he shrugs the shirt slowly over
his shoulders and removes it. He takes an unhurried moment to lay it over the
back of his chair.

Oh. My. Days.
Honestly, just... honestly. I’ve spent many, many hours wondering what goes on
beneath Anderton Spencer’s work shirts, and in all of my fantasies I don’t
think he’s ever been this good. His skin is the colour of buttery vanilla fudge,
a soft gold that gleams in the winter sunlight that floods the room and he’s
defined in a loose-limbed, lean way; limber like a boxer. Fine, tawny chest
hair tapers away down the muscles of his stomach. Through the glass table I
watch him bend momentarily to his shoes, and when he straightens up I can almost
hear the music from the Full Monty playing in my head because he’s unbuckling
his belt and staring right at me.

I lick my lips. I
can’t help it. I want to eat him. I try to arrange my face into an expression of
neutral encouragement rather than a leer; I’m not sure how successful I am
though, because I’m internally leering so hard that my tongue wants to hang out
of my mouth.

It’s enough,
really; he’s proved his point. Barone could stop him now. I glance the old boy’s
way to see if he looks as if he’s about to speak. He’s lucky that he isn’t,
because if he was, I’d have launched myself across this glass table and
strangled him with Anderton’s carefully rolled tie.

When I look back
at Anderton, he’s paused and he’s still staring at me.

I slowly realise
that everyone else in the room is staring at me now too. What? Did I whimper?
Did I beg out loud for him to keep going without realising it?

Anderton lets the
smallest of secret smiles pass between us, and then looks pointedly down at my
blouse. Realisation dawns, and although it’s a scenario I’ve wildly imagined,
the fact that he’s actually suggesting that I strip in front of these people comes
as a shock.

I get to my feet.
He’s at least ten foot away from me and there are six people in between us, but
even so I’m sure I can smell his distinctive scent from all the way here. I
reach for the top button of my blouse and slip it open.

I can’t believe
she’s going for it. I’ll give it to Jenna Walker, she’s a woman with beauty,
brains, and, so it would seem, balls. I wish I could round the table and
unbutton her blouse for her, but as it is I let my hands rest on my belt and
luxuriate in watching her open it herself. If we’re both going to get naked, I’m
ahead of her, so I do the gentlemanly thing and give her time to catch up. I’m
also giving myself time to watch her undress, because it’s just about the
sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve been to strip bars and watched more porn
than is good for my health, but watching my desirable secretary take her blouse
off in the middle of an important boardroom meeting is something I’ll be happy
to remember in my dying moments.

She’s just popped
the last of her buttons and is opening her blouse, and oh fucking hell, sweet
baby Jemma, you have the tits of an angel. Do angels even have tits? If they
do, they’ll be like Jemma’s. Round, and full, and held up for inspection by a
scant lace bra. I inspect them and resist the urge to shout A star! Top of the
class! Your tits could win the Nobel Prize for Tits, Jemma Walker! And then she
reaches behind her and unfastens the catch of her bra and slides it down her
arms.

Forget top of the
class and Nobel Prizes. Jemma Walker’s tits could achieve world fucking peace.

Would it be rude
to dismiss everyone else from the room right now? I don’t think I like all of
these people seeing her like this. She’s naked from the waist up and her cheeks
are flushed a delicate rose pink. She wears this perfume to work, it reminds me
of exotic flowers and warm bed sheets. I can smell her on my shirt sometimes
even if she isn’t in the office, and I swear I can smell her now across the long
expanse of the table.

When she slides
down the side zipper of her skirt and steps neatly out of it in her high heels,
I want to crawl over the table and rip her panties off with my teeth. I don’t
think these are the thoughts of a true naturist; I can’t take the time to enjoy
the natural joy of the breeze on my skin, I’m way too interested in getting my
hands on Jemma’s velvet soft skin instead.

The next move is
mine to make, but if I take my trousers off now everyone in this room is going
to get a look at my prize boner. I’m so hard for Jemma that it’s very fucking
apparent in my tented trousers anyway, but all the same I glance towards Barone
in search of a tip.

He clears his
throat. ‘It’s perfectly normal to have a physical reaction to the freedom of
being naked, Mr. Spencer,’ he says in quiet, confidential tones. ‘In our
community, we find that if you don’t pay attention to it, it subsides.’ He tips
me a conspiratorial wink. ‘You’re amongst friends here, I assure you.’