She was doing it again.
Her red painted nail tugged at her blouse, her face covered in a light sheen of sweat.
Oh, how he longed to make her face flush red for completely different reasons than the simple heat of an office.
He had been watching her for months now, taking note of every little action, every slight twitch of the lip, every blink of the eye.
He knew what am obsession was but he couldn't bring himself to care.
She was his.
She was practically made for him. From the tips of her pale toes to the roots of her chocolate brown hair. She was exactly his type in every aspect; her breasts full and round peeking out from under the collar of her blouse when she leaned over, her doe honey eyes that were too big, too pure to be real - the eyes of a true cocksucker. He would bet his most expensive car that she was feigning innocence, just trying to lure people into her trap. But oh, how he longed to feel those rosy lips wrapped around him, tongue swirling beneath tracing patterns. Her curvy body with skin so fine he was positive that after a single slap of his hand on her round ass it would bloom a lovely shade of magenta, love handles just begging to be grabbed and used to yank her back as she attempted to squirm away from his penetrating dick poking at her entrance. Maybe even her back one if he was in the mood.
Point being - he needed her. And soon.
He had spent the last couple of months registering her actions ever since he had hired her as a secretary for his company. He had placed her desk across from him where he could observe her daily.
He was the CEO but it was a miracle to him how he was not called out yet. He couldn't focus on work anymore, only her. He would call her in and ask about meetings just as an excuse to hear her sultry voice and watch those full lips mouth words.
But when they were not at work, he would follow her home.
She would take the bus, sit right at the back, and read her book until it was time for her to get off. Then she would walk the remaining ten minutes to her cramped flat. And he would sit and wait on the park bench on the other side of the street, staring at her window. Every night, right on schedule, he would drop a pen on the ground and bend over to pick it up. He would then stay in this angle staring up through the blinds at the silhouette moving around the room the head misshapen like there was a towel wrapped around it or something.
Most nights there would be a camera.
But he had enough pictures to cover a full wall at his own house, he felt no need for more.
He had to put an end to this. He needed her, and soon. Or he would simply explode with desire.
She stood up suddenly, her wheeled char rolling on the floor and bumping into the wall behind her. She cracked her knuckles, brushed her hands down her tight pencil skirt and turned on her bloody red heels (He noticed they matched the nail polish today) and walked out of the office space.
He had just watched her drink a whole mug of tea, he could easily guess where she was going.
Even though she was leaving, he still enjoyed the show. Glancing at her ass through the skirt trying to make out her pantie lines, and loving the fishnet tights she chose to match those daring shoes on her legs.
She was basically screaming, nay, begging him to throw her against a wall and fuck her until she forgot her own name!
What a tease.
He briefly looked up hoping to catch her face since he hadn't seen it all morning because the computer was always blocking the view. And as he did, it was the exact moment she looked at him, catching his eye and throwing a shy smile in his direction.
