Work Home Balance

Work/Home Life Balance by RedHead

I closed the front door quietly, careful not to wake my husband. It was still a little dark and damp, normal for this early in the morning. Quickly I made my way past the street lamps, knowing that if I missed this bus I would have a fifteen minute wait, and late arrival at work was always an uncomfortable experience. My husband worked only a block away from me in the city but as he didn't start till quite a bit later it was not practical for him to give me a lift to work. Besides, these days it is not exactly PC to be seen dropping your wife off at work. People would think it very odd for a man to indulge his wife like that. As I walked my aching thighs and calves reminded me of the previous evening. It had been one of our rare evenings of quality time together. Normally my husband worked late or went out with his friends to a club, but last night had been the big match and he had promised me he would stay home to watch it. I had made the evening special for him, running him a hot relaxing bath while I arranged the lounge settee for the best view, plumped up cushions, put beers and nibbles within easy reach, then dressed for him – just seamed hold-up stockings, black heels, baby-doll pink lipstick on my lips, nipples and pussy lips, and my hair in two pony tails either side of the head. (My husband usually likes my auburn hair teased up and frothy but I learnt early on in marriage that anything that blocked his view of the TV was a serious no-no. Anyway pony tails were more practical for control reasons too).

When he had come downstairs in his dressing gown, he had been greeted by dimmed lights, a cold lager and a pampering wife. I made sure that he was comfortably slouched on the settee before squatting down onto my haunches, my knees wide apart and my fingers opening his gown. As he watched the match I spent my time gently licking, sucking and fondling his rather magnificent manhood, careful to make sure he came nowhere close to the edge. It did not take long for my thighs to get very sore, squatting on my heels in such a position but practice has helped make it bearable. I got a break after 45 minutes when half-time arrived and I organised him a quick meal. The second half, and I carried on as before. It was not often we got to spend time together and I was looking forward to the end of the match and a really good screwing despite my steadily aching back, thighs and calves. Unfortunately his team tied so it went into extra time which was more exciting for him but served to extend the time I spent painfully posed. Even my tongue and lips were starting to ache. The final result with his team losing 4 – 2 meant my dreamed for love-making consisted of a quick, angry, uncomfortable grudge fuck up my bottom as I lay over the settee arm. He was so upset he didn't even wait for me to lick him clean afterwards. Just a grunted 'goodnight' and off he went.

Hearing the bus engine brought my mind back to reality and I almost jogged to the stop, my heels slipping on the wet pavement. Made it with moments to spare. Living so far out in suburbia means I always get a seat.. The drive takes almost an hour and the passengers are all women like me, travelling into their jobs as secretaries, clerks, cleaners, and tellers. Everyone is well made up and while some of the clothes are cheaper than others they are all designed to make the wearer look more attractive. While cold it is not raining so as is the norm coats are not worn. The bus turns into Burgundy Road and we start picking up the young lads that go to Alton Grammar. Automatically I stand to give a fourteen year old lad a seat, smiling at him hoping to gain a brief moment of camaraderie as fellow travelling commuters but he is too busy talking to his mate. The assumption he would get a seat is automatic and certainly by the time we get to the School nearly all the seats are taken by the boys in their uniforms, surrounded by standing women, all swaying to the buses movement. Plenty of opportunity for 'accidental' gropes and touches of buttocks and breasts as the lads stand to exit. It's the norm these days.

I sit again but it is hardly worth it as two stops later I get out and walk across the plaza to our office building. 7.45 am. On time. Quickly into the small pastry shop, pick up some croissants, then on to work. Past the lady janitors laying out some thin exercise mats in the foyer then straight up to my bosses office. He won't be in for at least another ninety minutes but there is a lot to do; checking the diary, getting out the files he will need for the day, accepting the early mail from the postgirl. As time gets closer I put on the coffee maker. As it goes to work bubbling away I quickly pop into the ladies to touch up my make-up and check my appearance. I know that the main reason I got promoted to PA was the fact that I am a natural redhead and more importantly the self-evident fact that not only are my breasts large and very firm, they are also all natural. A rarity in this day and age where breast enhancements are almost mandatory for the up and coming office worker. Straighten the stockings and the blouse. No need to check my thong. I'm not wearing underwear. It's Wednesday – Communications Day – a new innovation designed to bring the managers out of their offices and actually meet face to face rather than by e-mail.

I get back to my desk and quickly make up a small breakfast tray of croissants, butter and just wait to pour the coffee. Twelve minutes later the front hall receptionist rings me.

"He is just coming across the Plaza now", she warns. Quickly I pour the coffee into a pot and carefully carrying the tray I head for the stairs. Lifts are for the Execs of course. The stairs are healthier and keep us toned – mind you for the PA's who work for the CEO it must be hard. Top floor of a 24 floor block – how toned must they be?

I arrived at the bottom of the stairs just in time to see my boss seating himself in an easy chair, joining some colleagues around a coffee table. Energetic music and rhythmic thumping is evident as a cohort of about twenty women from the secretarial pool are put through a heavy aerobics session. They would have started about 30 minutes before the first man arrived so about now they are all very hot, sweating and going for the burn. Their sweat-soaked leotards have ridden up into places that must be quite uncomfortable and the crop tops are providing no support whatsoever for the breasts flying about under them. I head for the coffee table and my boss. As I bend to place the breakfast tray on the table he runs his hand up my thigh then pats my bottom. I give a smile and step back, but as he doesn't ask for anything more I head back for the stairs, past the tired but still active women. A brainwave from the HR department, a way to get the secretarial pool on show and hopefully provided opportunities for promotion if a particularly talented secretary is noticed by a boss. Also an opportunity for the managers to meet and discus business in an informal, relaxing and entertaining setting. I arrive back up at the office, grateful that my boss is only mid-level management and thus is only on the 8 ^th floor. I walk past my desk to his office and slide the door notice to 'Engaged'. I enter his office but leave the door open – it is for him to close when he comes up. I undo my blouse and unclip my front fastening bra, then bend over his meeting table, flipping up my skirt up to expose my rear. Wednesday, no knickers day, for me at least. The day when he is usually very rampant from the display downstairs. A morning BJ is not sufficient. I wait about twenty minutes then I hear him entering the outer office. Moments later his office door closes, he stands behind me and without finesse rams a bonehard erection straight into me. I get the fucking I wanted last night and I use my internal muscles to make sure he gets a good ride. I force myself up slightly off the desk to allow him access to my nipples and heavy breasts – it's the reason he chose me from amongst the whole of the secretarial pool and I have no wish to return, so I make sure he gets every opportunity to enjoy them, however rough and painful his mauling is.

A grunt, a heavy spurt, then I am turned, cleaning, licking and putting him away. He nods his head.

"I left my briefcase downstairs, can you pick it up when you get the tray". I smile and nod. Another long trek down and up but a least it gives me a chance to pop into the ladies on the way and clean up. I walk in to squeals and acres of female flesh. The aerobic girls showering after their exertions. The open plan showers made it a very communal experience and the cold-water-only plumbing at least prevented the place steaming up, which was presumably the reason for it in the first place.

Another long slog down, and back again loaded with tray and heavy bag leaves me almost as sweaty as the aerobic girls. Sitting at my desk I tackle the mound of paperwork, condensing weighty documents into brief summaries for my boss. He has enough to do without reading through a lot of drivel. Through the partly opened door I can see him practicing his putting before a yell gets me scurrying through to his office pencil and notebook in hand

"Just had a thought. Can you pop down to Daniels office and invite him to the Company ProAm golf match this week-end. I knows it is not in his normal work training hours but the company sponsors him and it would be good experience. Tell him not to worry about clubs or caddies, I will arrange that"

I nodded, busy scribbling, then rush back to turn my notes into a memo detailing time, place, location etc. I grab it of the printer and trotted down two floors to Daniel, Sorry ! Mr Daniels office.

Daniel is a 16 year old School pupil on work placement with us for a month. My boss has been allocated as his mentor and takes his role seriously. During the first day he took Daniel personally to the secretarial pool to select a Personal Assistant for his period with us. Not surprisingly the choice was the Corina a long legged, big titted Nordic blonde who despite her obvious attractions remains a secretary because of her pretty abysmal admin skills. Her pleasure at being chosen for a PA role was pretty short-lived when she realised that it would only last for a month and that she would be helping to train a young schoolboy. We all knew how a young man reacted to the first real opportunity to manage a member of staff. Add to that the fact that their work load was extremely low and they had a lot of spare time in which to experiment with their man-management skills, in the privacy of an office. One example is the fact that Daniel was clearly briefed that he could not exceed 6 strokes of a cane in any 24 hour period. Caning is actually a very rare form of punishment these days where staff strive hard to excel. Daniel however took the ruling to mean he should cane each day, so Corina bends to grab her ankles every morning to get three wristy cuts, knowing that at the end of the day her 'Goodnight' would consist of the matching three strokes just before she left. Obviously management knew how work release student were apt to act and had allocated a very lightweight rod but as I knew from experience, even though the marks would fade after an hour or so it still stung like a hive of wasps.

I entered his ante-office, not surprised to see it empty. I moved forward and knocked on Daniels office door and waited.

"Enter".

Yep! There she was. Bent over, hands grabbing ankles, skirt flipped back and the spread apart legs stretching a thin band of material around her knees, presumably an ultra-mini thong. Daniel had obviously be doing a bra inspection beforehand as one lay on his desk and Corina's open blouse was allowing her overly large chest to hang clear. She stayed in position.

"What you want!"

I smiled. Respect at all times. I handed over the memo.

"An invitation to golf, Sir" I said cheerily. He took the note, scanned it and smiled.

"Yeah, great". He looked at me. "Panty Inspection"

"Normally that is something a PA provides for her own boss, Sir," I replied, somewhat stiffly.

"Questioning me. Shall I call him?"

"No Sir, I'm happy to display, I was just pointing out the business etiquette", I replied swiftly. I didn't want him disturbing my boss over something so trivial.

Quickly I lifted my skirt displaying a smooth hairless slit.

"No knickers. Lost them or what. How often do you shave?"

I remained displaying. Wednesdays is a no-knicker day for me Sir", I replied. You would have thought that with my experience I would not be upset by this but standing in front of such a young man somehow seemed particularly shaming. "My boss and husband like me to be smooth. I go for a Brazilian Wax every 6 weeks. There is a parlour nearby that the company uses and we have an account there as a number of staff go for depilations, piercings and even tattoos"

He smirked. "Pity I can't get to see it".

I continued standing there, skirt held high. "You can Sir, There is a viewing area. A lot of men in the area take their lunch breaks down there on occasion". I knew from experience. Legs held wide open for a waxing with a dozen or more faces staring at everything I had to offer

"OK, drop your skirt." I did so feeling relieved but then was hit with,

"Come back this evening.. I want you and bum-cheeks here to put on a Heater Session for me".

I said quite firmly, "That Sir is certainly something that I am not allowed to do without direct orders from my Boss, and I think you will find he will not agree to that. He can be quite possessive of his staff".

I nodded, noticing the malicious glint in his eye, but he is young and will have to get used to disappointment – well being a man perhaps not actually, but certainly to not always winning. I know for a fact that my boss has turned down at least one request for my services from an other same level exec, though what he might do if a senior exec. asked would be in no doubt.

I walked back to my office and continued to plough through the turgid papers trying to make sense of them. About 45 minute later a Postgirl delivered an internal memo. I recognised her. She was about 50 years old and rumour had it that many years ago before the New Order, she had been a Senior Exec in the company. Over the years she had worked her way down the business ladder, acting as PA, then receptionist, then secretary. Now she delivered post in a bright red Micra skirt, which displayed her still well toned legs (well think of all the stairs!) and a matching halter neck top. As she placed the envelope down she stepped back, and as required curtsied, affording me a glimpse of her completely bare crotch and a recent tattoo over her mons that said "Post Male Here"

I smirked. Someone had a good sense of humour. My own good humour only lasted a few seconds as I read what was in fact two memos, both from Daniel. The first asked permission to have Corina pierced at the local Parlour. Specifically he was looking for nipple rings. The second asked for me formally in order to do a Heater session.

Extremely annoyed I nonetheless acted professionally and did my job, typing two reply memos for each request. One agreeing and one declining. Then taking all the paper work through to my boss I left them with him. He could make a decision and sign the appropriate reply.

Five minutes later he called me back to pick them up.

"Retype", he grunted. At my desk I looked. He had agreed to me doing a heater session but had changed it from today as requested to tomorow. I sat shocked, but then retyped the memo for his signature. The second response had been even more altered. He agreed to the ringing but had stated that it could not be a small silver ring through each nipple as they would look out of place on such an expansive chest. Instead he had specified larger heavyweight brass rings should be placed through the rear of the Aureole. His written comment was that this would provide greater flexibility of use. I looked like on Thursday I was going to be one of the first to see her with them !

Memos signed, Postgirl called and my Thursday evening allocated I went to make some fresh coffee. Taking it through my boss looked up at me.

"Pop down to the secretarial Pool and pick up their "Welfare Policies" handbook."

I looked, knowing what this boded but quickly obeyed. More stairs and then into a large open plan office where about 40 women stiffly sat busily transcribing notes . As was the norm only tapping could be heard , it wasn't yet break and chat time for them. I walked over to Mrs Jameson, a severe looking lady seated at a desk, overseeing the work. Overseeing her was a CCTV camera, so she ensured her back too was straight and her chest well out.

"Morning, may I have the Welfare Polices book please" I asked in a brittle voice. She new immediately what this meant for me and gave a grin. "Heavy overtime this week-end then" she smirked, handing me the heavy folder. Though more senior than PA's she was always jealous of our perceived freedom in comparison to her strictly tethered existence, so the thought that I would be doing more than just giving up a week-end gave her a spiteful thrill.

"I've yet to be briefed," I replied coldly, before turning to climb back to my office,.

Welfare Polices. The Company had the best interests of not only its staff, but it's staffs family members at heart. This folder contained photos and a potted history of all the girls in the Secretarial Pool. When a married PA was asked to travel away on business it was policy to ensure that her husband's welfare was taken care off. A member of the pool would be allocated to replace the wife for the duration of her absence.

My job with the book was to look through it, mark up about four or five women who I thought might appeal to him or would in some way compensate for my absence. I would then take the book home and he would choose one, or perhaps someone else from the file. I was just trying to take some of the load off his shoulders, as a good wife should. A couple of very young looking teenagers were easily marked up, their tight healthy bodies would compliment their inexperience and give him an enjoyable time if he was in the mood to spend a bit of time training. Liora, a well bodied Hispanic divorcee who I knew screwed like a rattle-snake and could be counted on to provide full satisfaction, whatever the request. I also noticed an 'exotic' - a mother daughter combination. The daughter was in the pool but a note on the file pointed towards an attachment that included details of her mother, a night office cleaner. Both looked very presentable and might amuse my husband.

It was only as I put the book in my bag that it suddenly hit me. Yes I had gone on business trips with my boss before. Cramped up in coach class with other female travellers, carrying the suitcases and dealing with all the arrangements. The working on business deals, and often providing a little relaxation to the clients to help smooth the path. Plus of course ensuring my boss was sufficiently well looked after to do his job effectively. But that wouldn't be happening this week-end. It was the golf. What did he need me for ! He had his regular golf bag carrier – somewhere to put his wood, as he termed. My hole-in-one was his joke. So why? It struck me. Daniel! He would need a caddy ! I almost burst into tears before pulling myself together. I had to try and be positive. I would have no option if I wanted to keep my job. I would just have to ensure that my Heater session on Thursday was one that put me in a good light. I started planning in my mind how to manage the session - and Corina. And those heavy nipple rings were going to be playing a major part.

**********

By half-four my boss had almost completed his days work and was arranging with some work colleagues to do a little investigating of a new pole dancing club nearby. It's gimmick was that they had a sponsorship deal with the City Police Department. Off-duty police women were allocated sessions there on a rota basis and got to wear very abbreviated uniforms. On the other hand I, like all the other female staff needed to work until at least 6pm and I spent the time ploughing through the heavy work-load. My husband had instructed me to get home promptly tonight as he was having an evening in with some mates playing poker. He would have left for home ages ago and public transport would delay my return. He had kindly arranged a taxi for me and I got a call from reception to say it had arrived.

Closing down the office I grabbed my bag and ran for the stairs, leaping into the cab. The driver, a swarthy, middle-aged man of Mediterranean appearance, looked at the small TV screen on his dashboard. For security all cabs had a small camera in the back and at a push of a button the goings-on could be recorded. Many a cabbie had received a good tip in exchange for a tape of some energetic coupling or blow job that had taken place during the ride – something that a man could take home and enjoy watching. My husband had a small collection himself, though I only figured in one of them.

In his screen I knew he would be seeing a very attractive woman, but I also knew that in a while he would be seeing much more of me. In my bag I had the clothes I was to wear for the evening and in order to save time I would be changing in the cab. As we drove through town I was also aware of people looking through the windows as I removed my clothes, folded them and packed them carefully in my bag. I could hear the whirr of the video recorder and guessed I would be a re-run later this evening. Out of my bag I pulled a white lace cincher – front fastening. This shrunk my waist by at least two inches and was a pig to put on. I must have contorted myself into some pretty revealing positions as I struggled to tighten the hooks. Matching white net stockings, held up by thin ribbons and clips. On my head went a lacy maids cap and on my wrists matching white and black lace wristlets. White heels and that was it. I spent a long time ensuring my make up and hair was immaculate, and highlighted my nipples and pussy with a smear of glittery Vaseline. A burst of perfume and I was ready. I sat back for the last few minutes of the drive catching glimpses of the drivers leering face in his rear view mirror.

We arrived, and I got out but before I could rush to the door the driver in insisted I sign a travel docket for billing my husband later. Standing on the street almost naked was not something new to me but I never failed to feel uncomfortable. I thanked the driver and rushed up the drive. Quietly I entered the house I droped my bag by the door then with my breast, pussy and best smile on display I entered the lounge. The four men were all sitting in easy chairs in a loose square playing cards. I was not surprised to see a woman kneeling on all fours, her back acting as the card table. All I could see was her quite large, very firm rear but I would recognise those pouty nether lips and that winking bottom hole anywhere. It was Hilary, the ex-wife of my husbands best friend. Like all divorcees these days she had got custody of the kids and a very small alimony payment that allowed her to bring them up. In exchange she had had to sign a contract agreeing to get a job to top up the alimony payments, to abstain from re-marrying until the children were either 21 or had left home and to undertake 24 hours a week unpaid domestic service for her ex-husband, the work and times to be decided by him. This clearly was part of this weeks work commitment. I knew that she had had a hard time getting back into the labour market. Times were tough out there and the competition fierce. She had managed to pick up a job with the sanitation department of the Council which meant that her job was a varied one of park cleaning, refuse collection, street cleaning and public convenience attendant. Pay was not particularly good but the job was steady.

I smiled at the men, gave a little bob curtsy and at the nod of my husbands head I went to the kitchen to get more beers and start heating the nibbles.

The evening was an enjoyable one, for the men. Hilary's back must have been aching and my inner thighs and bum cheeks received a lot of painful rough attention but by the end of the evening my husband was ahead by 12 Euros. I smiled proudly and got ready for the evening finale. The lads expected a good screwing but beforehand they wanted some entertaining. Usually if I was alone this would consist of either an erotic dance with a lot of self-fingering or laying over their laps for a hand spanking. Tonight, with Hilary here we put on a fairly enthusiastic Heater session. We had done it before for our husbands and I quite enjoyed the opportunity to re-acquaint myself with her hard body. Before we achieved any pleasure for ourselves however we were posed. Hilary lay back on a coffee table her head hanging backwards over the edge. My husband slid in. His favourite is to feel a spasming through on his cock-head. He grabbed her ankles and pulling them up under his armpits he provided a clear access for his mate to enjoy either of the presented two holes. Trevor took full advantage – three stokes in one, then out and three stokes in the other. Repeat.

I was asked to sit on Jacks willie facing away from him. Although he is pretty large and fat his cock is the opposite and it is quite hard to get a good grip. He told me not to move an to use my cunt muscles to make him come. Not easy on such a small wiener but I did my best. I was also told to lean forward and wank off James between my tits. Trying to keep my bottom half still, concentrating on squeezing my internal muscles while moving my upper half and concentrating on squeezing my breast flesh around a hard penis was not easy, but Jack found a way to help me concentrate. He reached over to the tray of nibbles and picking up a pickled chilli pepper he slid it up my anus. I had no trouble relaxing and squeezing after that.

*********

At the end of the long evening, after prolonged goodbyes and plenty of slaps on the buttocks the men left, Hilary left with her ex, not looking totally happy about it.

My husband went upstairs to bed and I spent the next hour clearing up before slipping into bed beside him. I noted that had taken the Welfare Policies book I had left on his Pillow. Not surprisingly the Mother/Daughter pairing had been marked. I'd arrange tomorrow

I slid next to him wearing an almost non-existent chemise. It is rare that my husband wakes up before me but when he does he likes his early morning gobble nicely packaged. I lay back, thinking about the day, concerned about the weekend but happy to be home, with my man.

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