Kinky Penny: Boss and Secretary

“Ben, could you bring me a cup of coffee?”

Such an innocuous thing. Who would have thought it would have been such a catalyst for the next few weeks of fun?

Ben sauntered into the living room. Looking fine in his chinos, work boots, and flannel. I had almost gotten used to his Colorado hairy look of long hair and beard.

“Here you go, boss.”

“Boss?”

“That’s what a secretary does, right? Bring coffee to the boss?”

“You’ve got a secretary?”

“No.”

“Does anyone bring you coffee?”

“No.”

“Are you the boss?”

“Well, technically…”

“Then what the fuck are we talking about? You’re a boss and you don’t have a secretary bringing you coffee!”

“But you do.”

Ben kissed me lightly on the cheek.

“Gotta go, love. See you this evening.”

I rolled around the roles of secretary and boss in my head after Ben left me.

This could be fun.

Some role playing usually heightened our intimacy.

Shopping was in order.

These days, as a writer, my mornings, my afternoons, were spent in sweats and grubby T-shirts. No underwear, of course. After all I am a writer…

The task at hand required more. And I hoped, at the end of the day, I’d have a story as a reward. Or half a dozen stories if I played my cards right.

Shower. Shave. What writer shaves? I lamented as the last of the leg hair disappeared.

I stared into the depths of my closet. What does one wear when going out and shopping for sexy boss clothes?

I decided on jeans. A sweatshirt. Boots. Colorado chic.

Our condo is in Lakewood, not far from Ben’s office/warehouse, and for the most part, when we were together during our stay in Colorado, we had headed west toward the mountains or south to Colorado Springs.

Denver was going to be a bit of an adventure for me. Other than a great night out with Ben to the big city during our initial research into moving out here, that was the extent of my urban excursions.

I found a cool little list of boutique critiques for the Denver area, visited their websites (the ones that were still in business), then made a short list of those to visit today.

After a couple of hours of fruitlessness, I gave up. Too hippy chic for what I was after. Sitting in a Chick-fil-A nibbling at my nuggets, feeling more homesick with every fried chickeny goodness bite, I realized that I was completely wasting time.

The world was at my fingertips through the web. For some reason, when this whole concept developed in my head, I envisioned trying clothes on in various and sundry stores, while others waited on me hand and foot.

Oh, how so Rodeo Drive Pretty Woman.

This ain’t that kind of world anymore.

Back in my Honda, I buzzed back to our condo.

“Hmmm, let’s try business female chic attire,” I said to the empty kitchen as I sat at my primary writing venue–the kitchen table.

Fifteen minutes and jackpot. Two thousand dollars later, I had quite the collection of prints, polka dots, and solids. Some accompanying jackets. I figured I had more than enough sexy thigh highs and high heels from my lingerie collection to top these off.

I texted Ben: “You’re going to get an alert from Discover in a few minutes that I just broke the bank.”

“Got it. Hmmm.”

I texted him several sexy photos of the models in the dresses and jackets.

“Interesting,” he texted back.

“A boss has to dress appropriately. Make her hunky, sexy mountain man secretary interested in bringing her coffee.”

“Hell, baby, I think you’re sexy in anything… and nothing… and everything in between.”

“That’s because we fuck and suck on a regular basis.”

“Damn right.”

“Don’t miss ‘status quo’, baby?” I liked to bring that up to him from time to time as a reminder of where we were then and where we are now.

“Not a bit, baby. Thanks for opening my eyes and realizing what a vibrant, sexy partner I have.”

“Thanks, baby. Very kind of you to say. Now about weekend after next…”

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