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Authors: Mimi Strong
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could think of, but the last name was too common, and even combined with the city name, I still got too many search results. I found nothing in combination with the address, but that was normal. The rich liked their privacy.
I scoured the many Mr. Thorne photos for suits, comparing the ones online to what I'd seen in the closet. As I looked, I rubbed my legs together. Again? My gal wanted to go again? What, was I turning into a guy? I'd just gotten off, not hours before.
After zooming in on a photo of a Mr. Thorne in a dark blue suit, I propped the laptop up on a pillow and opened my Drawer of Delight. I selected the one that had a Mr. Thorne quality, sleek and tasteful, and got to work, taking my time.
As I moved the vibrator's settings between oh-yeah and OHMYGOD, I pictured a man in an expensive suit doing all sorts of things to me. Things I'd never done before: spanking, tricky positions, and even sex in public. I'd settled on a nice image of us in an underground parking lot, me gently biting the shoulder of a man whose face I'd not yet seen. The vibrator was on its lowest setting when I came, hard and fast, crying out in surprise.
I clapped my hand over my mouth. The window to my bedroom was open, and people were walking by outside, talking. Someone asked their companion, “What was that? Did you hear people having sex? I think it came from up there.”
I pulled one of my pillows over my face and giggled like mad.
I suddenly stopped laughing. Had I made all those loud noises earlier today, in the closet? He must have heard me. Damnit.
All the more reason to be extra careful the next day, careful not to be seen, and even more careful not to be heard. And yet, I hoped he'd noticed the scent in his walk-in closet. I didn't know if Grace would be taking credit for the work or if he'd know someone else had been touching his things, folding his boxers and smelling his suits. I hoped he'd pulled the blue shirt from the laundry and smell me on it, then go mad with desire for me.
With that thought, I grabbed my vibrator from the bed next to me and dialed it up to OHMYGOD.
PART 2: The Office Chair
Mr. Thorne had a handsome chair. As I gazed at the swivel chair with the ergonomic, space-age-fabric back—the type of specialized Euro office equipment that probably costs two grand—I imagined the handsome buns that sat there. Did he use the chair first thing in the morning to check on his stocks? Perhaps while wearing only his boxers?
I ran my fingers along the armrests and fantasized about doing a sexy little striptease for Mr. Thorne, culminating in a lap dance. I'd never given a lap dance before—I'm an organizer, not a stripper—but something told me I'd enjoy the act. Perhaps it was my damp panties. Blue ones that day, with the matching bra. I'm not normally such a stickler for matching things up, I just grab whatever's freshly laundered, but the Thorne mansion was bringing out my best and worst behavior—best because of the matching, and worst because I kept rubbing my mound on the edge of Mr. Thorne's desk. Now I was imagining him spanking my butt, and punishing me for snooping around in his papers when I was supposed to be tidying.
All the good stuff was locked away in a filing cabinet, anyway. Phooey.
Grace had made sure of that before she left me alone to organize Mr. Thorne's office. I had little to do, mainly making tidy stacks and folders for piles of magazine clippings and newspaper articles. From what I could tell so far, Mr. Thorne was a visual man. That meant he liked to look at breasts in a nice bra. He also preferred to have his magazine clippings somewhere he could see them at a glance, not tucked away in a drawer. For a man like that, stacking file organizers and those pockets you attach to the wall work best, preferably clear lucite ones.
Lucky for Mr. Thorne, I knew just where to buy such things, and I got a discount. I'd mark up the materials and get a little profit on them as well. I'd be
I scoured the many Mr. Thorne photos for suits, comparing the ones online to what I'd seen in the closet. As I looked, I rubbed my legs together. Again? My gal wanted to go again? What, was I turning into a guy? I'd just gotten off, not hours before.
After zooming in on a photo of a Mr. Thorne in a dark blue suit, I propped the laptop up on a pillow and opened my Drawer of Delight. I selected the one that had a Mr. Thorne quality, sleek and tasteful, and got to work, taking my time.
As I moved the vibrator's settings between oh-yeah and OHMYGOD, I pictured a man in an expensive suit doing all sorts of things to me. Things I'd never done before: spanking, tricky positions, and even sex in public. I'd settled on a nice image of us in an underground parking lot, me gently biting the shoulder of a man whose face I'd not yet seen. The vibrator was on its lowest setting when I came, hard and fast, crying out in surprise.
I clapped my hand over my mouth. The window to my bedroom was open, and people were walking by outside, talking. Someone asked their companion, “What was that? Did you hear people having sex? I think it came from up there.”
I pulled one of my pillows over my face and giggled like mad.
I suddenly stopped laughing. Had I made all those loud noises earlier today, in the closet? He must have heard me. Damnit.
All the more reason to be extra careful the next day, careful not to be seen, and even more careful not to be heard. And yet, I hoped he'd noticed the scent in his walk-in closet. I didn't know if Grace would be taking credit for the work or if he'd know someone else had been touching his things, folding his boxers and smelling his suits. I hoped he'd pulled the blue shirt from the laundry and smell me on it, then go mad with desire for me.
With that thought, I grabbed my vibrator from the bed next to me and dialed it up to OHMYGOD.
PART 2: The Office Chair
Mr. Thorne had a handsome chair. As I gazed at the swivel chair with the ergonomic, space-age-fabric back—the type of specialized Euro office equipment that probably costs two grand—I imagined the handsome buns that sat there. Did he use the chair first thing in the morning to check on his stocks? Perhaps while wearing only his boxers?
I ran my fingers along the armrests and fantasized about doing a sexy little striptease for Mr. Thorne, culminating in a lap dance. I'd never given a lap dance before—I'm an organizer, not a stripper—but something told me I'd enjoy the act. Perhaps it was my damp panties. Blue ones that day, with the matching bra. I'm not normally such a stickler for matching things up, I just grab whatever's freshly laundered, but the Thorne mansion was bringing out my best and worst behavior—best because of the matching, and worst because I kept rubbing my mound on the edge of Mr. Thorne's desk. Now I was imagining him spanking my butt, and punishing me for snooping around in his papers when I was supposed to be tidying.
All the good stuff was locked away in a filing cabinet, anyway. Phooey.
Grace had made sure of that before she left me alone to organize Mr. Thorne's office. I had little to do, mainly making tidy stacks and folders for piles of magazine clippings and newspaper articles. From what I could tell so far, Mr. Thorne was a visual man. That meant he liked to look at breasts in a nice bra. He also preferred to have his magazine clippings somewhere he could see them at a glance, not tucked away in a drawer. For a man like that, stacking file organizers and those pockets you attach to the wall work best, preferably clear lucite ones.
Lucky for Mr. Thorne, I knew just where to buy such things, and I got a discount. I'd mark up the materials and get a little profit on them as well. I'd be
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