We definitely seemed to have passed some sort of barrier after she first moaned my name. We both apparently realized that, whatever the complicated emotional underpinning, what we were doing was extremely pleasurable, and didn't seem to be harming either of us. When we worked, we were as we always had been – friendly and professional. When I was between her legs...now, she voiced her pleasure, if with restraint, moaning and whimpering, occasionally squealing when I did something she especially liked. Her moans of my name – especially the diminutive form of it that I loved to hear from her lips – were still rare and precious when I earned them.
Much of the time, Lauren would lie back in her chair with her free leg over my shoulder and her other leg up on her desk, and I would take my time pleasuring her while slowly running my hands over her legs and her hips as much as I liked – which was a lot. She loved when I massaged her feet with my hands while I massaged her clit with my tongue. She squealed the first time I cupped her ass and let her thrust herself to orgasm on my tongue entirely on her own.
She definitely was giving in to the entire process in other ways, too. More and more often I would arrive for one of our sessions only to find her panties already gone, or would feel her press her leg against my hand or arch her hips to my touch without my having to guide her. She would signal me with her sounds when she wanted something – if I was teasing her too much, or she wanted contact somewhere else, she would guide me with whimpers or movements of her body.
On one rare occasion when she needed me to work on a Saturday because of a meeting she was having at a local church picnic, of all things, she actually wore a dress to the office – the first time I had seen her in anything but a skirt and blouse. This, of course, provided me an incredible opportunity. With her dress up around her waist, her creamy hips and thighs totally bare to my hands and her body laid back comfortably, I took the opportunity to explore not only her flat stomach – and much enjoyed feeling the quivers and tension in the muscles there – but slid my hands up higher, and for the first time, touched her breasts. They were soft and silky smooth, and their weight felt perfect in my hands.
The first time I touched them, she gasped, arching against my hands, but her hips pulled back with a hint of nervousness. I almost laughed at the idea of a woman who had my tongue buried inside her being nervous about me touching her breasts. I drew my hands back, exploring her torso, and my tongue soon encouraged her to writhe against my hands. I returned to her breasts, gently massaging them, and, already close, she arched, whimpering loudly. When I tugged softly at her nipples, it was enough to push her over the edge, and I luxuriated in the feel of her nearly bare body bucking under my hands.
Now, we had found entirely new territory to explore. Within a few more sessions, even in her usual blouse and skirt, Lauren would be laying with her blouse open, her bra and panties gone, and her body exposed to my ceaseless caresses, giving her body entirely over to me to drive to higher and higher pleasure.
All along this path we were treading, though, I never once suggested or at all hinted that I wished her to return the favor – indeed, we both seemed to shy away from any possibility of that ever happening. I dressed conservatively to work, and she made sure that her body did not brush mine in any way that might be taken as a returned caress. Both of us seemed fearful to cross that boundary, knowing that if she ever returned the pleasure I had given her, we would be lovers in truth.
Even now, I am not sure why I feared that so – perhaps even the threat of losing such a lovely, albeit incomplete, relationship was enough. Perhaps it was something else. I doubt I'll ever know.
It was inevitable, I suppose, that despite our enjoyment of our "arrangement", something would interfere and finally give our emotions a real chance to complicate things.
I sat at my desk, typing out a series of memos and emails to different people on my daily contact sheet. Lauren's last meeting had been a few days ago. We had become a great team – with my help, she had been dominating meetings even more than usual, and the firm had picked up so much business that we were seriously contemplating expanding the firm entirely – though Lauren had seemed hesitant to expand, since she really didn't need to work the ridiculous hours that most lawyers do.
Firing off another email, I glanced at my inbox and saw that another email had just arrived – one from an address I didn't recognize. Opening it with a frown, I saw a long series of short messages – apparently, I had been accidentally included on an email string. This happens frequently in any office, of course, so I went indifferently to delete it, but then a single word in one of the replies caught my eye – my name.
Unable to help myself, I scrolled curiously back through the chain of messages.
- I received your quote for the renovations. Can you refer me to a legal employment agency to fill out my staff?
That message was from Lauren. The next was from an address I didn't recognize, but was signed with a name I did recognize – the owner and operator of the building in which Lauren's offices were located. Apparently, Lauren had inquired about the costs of expanding our firm, complete with office renovations and new staff.
- Easily – the firm in the offices above yours just completed their renovations, and hired some new staff. They mentioned that they were very happy with their new staff – I've used the same staffing agency myself. They can supply all the paralegals you might need, and a truly qualified legal assistant.
I stopped in surprise, glaring a bit at the message. What did he mean, "truly qualified"? I was fine at my job, and Lauren had certainly never complained. Far from it, I thought with a tiny smirk.
- It would be nice to have some of my own paralegals, for a change – sharing them can get pretty annoying. I'll definitely need some help finding at least one assistant who actually knows her stuff – the last two I've had in here had terrible recommendations, and the most recent one couldn't type her way out of a paper bag.
I stopped again – this time, in shocked dismay. I couldn't believe that Lauren would really think that about me. She had always seemed pleased with my work, and had complimented me several times – she even seemed grateful to have an assistant she could work well with.
My almost nerveless hand hit the delete button, and the offending email vanished instantly. I shivered, staring blankly at the screen. How could she think...how could she fake all that? Why?
Some part of me, the logical part, maybe, thought that it might be a misunderstanding. Maybe she meant the girl before me – from what I'd heard, she hadn't lasted long.
Of course, I couldn't deny that the law was no specialty of mine. I had picked up bits and pieces, certainly, but I had no formal training or education in legal matters. Law school had never been a financially viable option for me.
I slumped in my chair. Maybe Lauren did need a real legal assistant. After all, if she were going to expand her practice, she'd need a full staff, maybe even a partner or two, and assistants who could offer their own legal insights, not just a glorified secretary like me.
I worked for the rest of the day in something like a dream, going mechanically through the motions of my emails and memos, copying down meeting minutes, barely paying attention to what I was doing. I made sure to leave before Lauren finished for the night so that I wouldn't have to speak to her, not trusting myself.
Half of me felt as though what was happening was only inevitable – good things usually came to an abrupt end before they should, in my experience. The other half felt angry. I found myself questioning everything that had happened. I wondered whether Lauren had ever even really liked me, or if had just tolerated me. Whether she truly enjoyed what I had been doing to her, or whether she had just used me.
