A Very Personal Assistant Read Free

What an
irony. What a performance. He never showed it, nor any sign of irritation. What
a tour de force.
    Miranda fell silent for a while, as Patrick negotiated what was
becoming an increasingly twisty lane. They were out in the country now, in the
wilds, and he controlled the car with only the lightest touch, effortlessly and
economically.
    Just the way he was completely controlling her.
    “So what do you want me to do now?”
    He changed gear before he answered, rounding a bend.
    “How about showing me your pussy?” He didn’t look at her, but
he smiled, how he smiled.
    There weren’t many vehicles about around here, but occasionally
they passed the odd one. Miranda realized her alarm must have shown on her face,
because Patrick spoke again, almost immediately.
    “Okay, that’s a bit too extreme, for now…. So how about just
the tops of those delicious stockings you wear. Mmm, lace…I love it.”
    “How do you know I wear lace-topped hold-ups?”
    He laughed again, a free, happy sound. A little like the way
Miranda was starting to feel.
    “A man can sometimes catch a sly glimpse when a lady is
reaching for something.” He tapped a finger on the wheel. “And then there’re the
couple of spare pairs you keep in the filing cabinet…I’ve dreamed about
them.”
    Along with my pussy, and my breasts, it
seems.
    She didn’t speak, but she edged the hem of her skirt up her
thighs, inch by inch. He’d told her to, after all, and even if a passing
motorist got an eyeful, it could be attributed to inadvertent creep of the
fabric, not a deliberate act.
    Patrick scored a quick glance, then bit his lip, looking
pleased as punch with her.
    Again, they drove on for a while, in companionable yet dynamic
silence. Miranda had never felt this excited and needy in her life before, even
after hours of diligent foreplay by previous lovers. It was a state of peaceful
desperation. High lust, but almost restful, too.
    He’s going to fuck me. And touch me. And
do things to me. It’ll make things hellishly complicated and awkward back at
work, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!
    * * *
    Eventually, they pulled up in front of a timber-built
cottage, the last one in a small row, built alongside a lazy, leafy canal bank.
They were clearly holiday homes, but Miranda could see no sign of life in any of
them. Maybe they were weekend occupancy, and stood empty in the middle of the
working week?
    “It belongs to my gran. She likes to come here for little
breaks, and she lends it to anyone in the family who wants a few days peace and
quiet,” said Patrick conversationally, nodding toward the blue painted door of
the quaint little structure. “No one’s here now, though…it’s all ours. We have
total privacy.”
    Total privacy. What did that mean? Miranda shuddered, not
afraid, more excited.
    “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
    She nodded, her heart racing as he leapt of the Citroën.
Shoving at her skirt, she caught the top of one of her stockings and it
slithered down her thigh. She was still hitching at it when the passenger door
swung open.
    “Let me…”
    The contact of Patrick’s fingers on her bare skin was like a
jolt of sweet energy barreling through her. Kneeling beside the seat, he
smoothed the lace up her thigh again, deftly righting it, then slid his hand
beneath the hem of her skirt for just a moment, touching the soft hair at her
crotch and brushing his thumb over it.
    Miranda moaned. His touch was fleeting, barely there, and yet
her clitoris leapt and her sex rippled as if he’d been fondling and fondling her
and almost brought her to the point of orgasm. Maybe he had brought her to it, just with words, with his glances, and with
his presence.
    And then he was standing up, reaching for her hand, helping her
out of the low car and onto her feet. Her bag tumbled to the path and he swooped
it up and handed it to her, the perfect personal assistant. It was all
completely normal and polite, and yet he’d