The White Box - Sex Stories

The White Box

... as she stood then led me down the hallway, turning when she found the lavatory. She washed and dried my face then hers and led me to the front door. I grabbed my keys and wallet, punched in the alarm code and led Rita out the door. Twenty minutes later I escorted her into the dining room at the Sands Point Country Club. We were greeted at the entrance by Stanley Greene, the maitre d’. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bellamy. I heard you were ill. Will Mrs. Bellamy be joining you?” “No, and if you ever mention her to me again you’ll be looking for a new job.” “Yes, sir…table for two?” He picked up some menus and led us to a table near the kitchen. I gave him a look that could have frozen him solid. He moved us to a table overlooking the eighteenth green. Rita and I enjoyed our lunch as we watched the golfers finish their rounds. Well, Rita enjoyed looking out the window. I enjoyed looking at her. I was surprised at my lust. I’d hired Rita to be my personal secretary fourteen months ago after interviewing more than two dozen applicants. She had all the skills and she was the only one who knew steno. Most of the time I used a machine for dictation, but having the ability to dictate directly to her was a bonus. She could do it on the fly, while I was between meetings or in the hallway. Sometimes I even used her while in my private bathroom, shouting out of the shower or while I was sitting on the toilet. Rita also had an incredible memory—she could often remember appointments without ...

... checking her book even though I had dozens every week. She was tall--5 feet, 10 inches with a slender athletic body. Rita had smallish breasts, maybe B-cup at the most with narrow hips and extremely long legs. Rita’s hair was jet black and short, framing her oval face perfectly and offsetting her green eyes beautifully. Her olive skin showed her Mediterranean heritage. I thought she was extremely appealing physically, but I was happily married (I thought) and she was engaged to her college sweetheart. She was the company’s only clerical employee with a college education. I’d asked her about that when I interviewed her. “I know I need a lot more experience before I get the kind of job I want. I don’t want to do sales; I know I don’t have the right kind of personality—I could never handle all the rejection I’d get doing cold calls although I think I could handle selling to referrals. I think this position would expose me to all facets of the company, plus I’d be able to work closely with you. You’re a legend in the world of finance.” I hired her immediately in spite of her ingratiating comments. Her work had always been exemplary; she’d become my right arm. Now she was doing even more for me. I broke the silence by asking, “Tell me about your fiancé.” “There really isn’t much to tell, Martin. He never progressed beyond college. All he wants to do is party and get drunk. He wasn’t much of a student and he hasn’t managed to get any kind of a job in the past three years. Worse, he ...