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   It's very hard to put your life in writing like this.  If you liked what
you read, can identify with it, or simply didn't understand it or found a
typo, drop me a line.  All thought and input are appreciated.

   #####

   (This happened a few years after I got married.)

   In many ways, I was still a hick from Iowa - just a few years removed
from a slow moving town in the middle of nowhere - now living in Seattle
during the most explosive years of the internet boom of the very late 90's.

   Money was flowing through Seattle like water then - Microsoft money,
Amazon money, Nintendo money.  You name it, and we had it going on.  The
newly rich from those businesses were eating at expensive restaurants,
buying cars and houses, and in general business was booming for everyone.
It was a pretty heady time to be a young girl in the ad business.

   I had just gotten my first big break after a few crap jobs.  Working in
client management was a plum position with a solid base salary, liberal
expense account, and plenty of raw power.  No matter where you walked in
the offices from the art department to management row, your word was the
clients' word, and the client was king.

   One problem in all of this was that I felt like a pretender.  I was
totally clueless and felt like a fake.  To the outside world I did my by
best to ooze 200% proof self-confidence 24/7, but inside I felt softer than
a marshmallow.  I was winging it - mostly making it up as I went along -
not realizing at the time that acting like you knew what you were doing
when you had no idea was the job.  It was all about making the client feel
like shit was happening and it was all getting taken care of.

   The other problem was a little bit tougher.  I had just gotten this
plumb position and I had just discovered that I was two months pregnant.

   Fuck.  me.  That was bad.

   I was married.  Secure.  Even eager to be carrying what would be my
second child - but my boss was going to be pissed.  This was a career
suicide of sorts - you just don't step into a role like this and take
maternity leave - especially when you know that the fact you had a toddler
at home was a big negative consideration the bosses had weighed heavily
when you were hired in the first place.

   So I walked around in a bit of daze most of the time.  I wasn't scared -
more like in shock.  I had self-doubt going on, a slowly ticking time bomb
lodged in my uterus, and each and every day I came to work feeling like I
was standing in one of those game show prop machines where you stand in a
strong wind and grab all the money you can while it flies by.  I felt the
clock ticketing and knew any minute the money would be floating out of
reach.

   So how does this all work into my story?  I'm not sure really.  Call it
setting a mood or a description of my mindset.  It was a power position in
the middle of a booming economy and I was scrambling to keep it, desperate
not to fuck-up but knowing that in a few months it would all be over
anyway.

   Probably the only real factor that matters to most readers here is that
I had spent a fortune on new sharply-tailored designer clothes when I got
the job, and while my tummy had stayed remarkably flat for a preggo gal so
far, my normally smallish ass was getting some sudden shape.  Up top, my
tits - always just a bit bigger than my body type anyway - were blowing up
like balloons.  My bras and blouses were working overtime, stretched to the
limit and I was falling out of them everywhere.

   (Okay, I'll just stop the fancy narration and say it- in a naughty
secretary fantasy kind of way- I was looking pretty fucking hot.)

   Also inspired by my pregnancy, just like when I was in first trimester
with my first, I was a mass of hormones and horny all the time.  My husband
had guessed what was going on not from a body change, but from the amount
of time I had spent lately grabbing for his dick.  (I was seriously like a
machine - it was almost comically pornographic.)

   So amidst all of this I get an assignment for one of our local major
high-end merchants - you'd know the name - kind of a conservative label
retailers that was looking evolve their brand to attract the young and rich
segment.  Huge budget for which I would get a commission - sky was the
limit on creative and media budgets - and they had already signed an
expensive photographic talent from New York to come and do their work.  I
was sitting on a rocket, and all I had to do was hold on and try not to
fuck it up too bad.

   So our pro picture snapper was mine to babysit, and from the first time
this man walked into our offices I was smitten.  He wasn't handsome in a
conventional way - and certainly not what I had ever gone for in my past.
Kind of an Irish or English thing going on - James Bond kind of style and
swagger, though more Daniel Craig than Sean Connery.  Smooth as silk, but
kind of frayed at the edges.  He was not tall - only maybe 5'10" but was
210 pounds of muscle mostly carried in the neck and shoulders.  Very well
dressed - but not suits and tie dressed - just more of a style.  He was
perhaps 35 but already beginning to gray at the temples.

   He was a total take charge type too - firing models the client had
handpicked, changing location plans without approval - normally the kind of
thing that causes all kinds of drama in the office and that can rapidly get
someone fired.  But he didn't get any shit and didn't give one.  He had me
in a panic because he was like a bull in a china shop on budgets and
scheduling too, and that was my part in this project.

   I met him alone the first time and my intent was to try to rein him in a
bit, but he let me know he saw right through me.  His message; I was wet
behind the ears and way in over my head, and if I tried to go toe-to-toe
with him, he'd run me straight over.  On the other hand, if I trusted him
and just ate the clients shit long enough for him to get some of the first
work in the can, it would all be okay.  I was already fucked - I had maybe
two months outside before I had to drop a baby bomb that would put me in
hot water at the office - so I decided what the hell and went all in.  I
ducked client calls when I knew they planned to put their foot down, forgot
to do budget allocation paperwork that I knew would result in questions I
didn't want to answer, and on the photo sets I got coffee, ran errands, and
generally made myself invisible while this guy made everyone's life a
living hell for two 12 hour days.

   (Photo shoots are usually kind of loosey-gooseyaffairs.  this was a like
a death march.  One of the models - a male model - actually had to take a
break because he was crying after getting barked at by the photographer
non-stop for an hour.)

   When this man feigned to deal with me at all, he was always cordial and
he probably treated me with more respect than just about anyone else on the
set.  (No clients were allowed to view the production either - I didn't
even know that we could do that - so I felt privileged just to be there.)
When he spent time with me, I have to admit, my panties went damp and I got
weak at the knees.  I think the same could be said for just about any woman
on the set and some of the men.  (This is the ad business - so we have more
than our share of gay men.)

   After the studio, it was one more solid day behind closed doors in the
art department.  (It would be cool to go all Madmen and talk about film
rooms and photo processing, but we were already using digital so it was
really just a man and his Mac.) The next day I saw the first layouts and I
knew that it might be all okay.

   I'm not formally trained in this stuff but my boss says I have "an eye"
- and this work was stunning.  I wanted to personally go down on each and
every model in every spread -boy and girl.  It was all just pure sex on
paper.  This was the kind of imagery our clients lived for.

   The client meeting was set for a Thursday afternoon and from some time
on the phone, I knew the clients plan was to come in and go nuclear about
the way the project had been handled thus far.  (Project manager = me.) It
didn't work that way.

   Instead, we blew up oversized images from the shoot and lined the
hallways into the presentation room - a common stunt actually, kind of
amateur theatrics even for a design agency - but by the time the client
contingent got to the conference table, the clients were cumming by the
bucket and I knew this guy had saved my ass.  It was what we call a seven
figure meeting - and my cut was very low single digits off the profits but
it would add up quick.

   The clients were so in love with the work they didn't want to leave - so
we didn't get them out the door until well after 5, and something was going
on in town - I think it was a big NBA playoff game (we had the Sonics then)
so the office emptied fast.  Pretty quick is was just me - sitting in my
office too dazed to really be productive - just drinking in the day.  Or so
I thought.

   I heard a noise, and looked up to see the photographer, and I don't
remember the dialogue, but he had come in to remind me he had asked me to
trust him, and that he was glad I did.  He wanted to know what I had
thought of the meeting- obviously fishing for a compliment - and instead of
engaging him at that level I made a decision that I never quite understood
how I came to later.

   I removed the pin that had been holding my hair in place all day - and
dropped my jacket into my chair as I stood up.  I grabbed the photographer
by the arms and just kissed him like he was a steak and I was a starving
kid from Africa.  I don't know if I stunned him, but I did shut him up.

   I pushed him into my visitor chair in my office (I had an office then
instead of my little cube - those were the days).  I unbuttoned the top
buttons on my blouse and just crawled into this lap and pushed him back and
kissed him again.  By the time that kiss was done my blouse was on the
floor and my bra was undone and half off my arms.

   He attempted to be active, grabbing my ass and hugging me in, but I
really wasn't having any of that.  I slid down his body sliding between his
open legs, and reached up and started unbuckling his belt.  He opened his
mouth and started to say something but then thought better of it,

   I opened his pants buttons, then his zipper, and just dove into his open
pants with my face, smelling him for a minute and looking for the outline
of his cock with my mouth.

   I remember I was still wearing glasses then fulltime and they were still
on my face.  I think I actually scratched him with the frame and he moved
back a bit - so I retreated and looked up at him.  He was somewhere between
pleasantly shocked and pure nirvana.  A total bedroom eyes kind of look men
shouldn't be capable of.

   By this time my knees were on the floor and I was just sitting there
topless.  I had my hands on his crotch and I fished through his briefs and
found his cock, which I pulled out through the little hole/flap thing.  He
wasn't completely hard, but he was quickly inflating as I kind of just held
it in my hand and looked at him like I was asking permission.  Then I moved
down and took him completely in my mouth in one move.

   I was wearing a skirt that day (standard office dress) and as I widened
my knees out a bit it hiked up my legs slowly.  I remember I didn't need my
hands to hold his cock in my mouth as he wasn't that big, so I put one
between my legs and grabbed the back of his leg with the other.

   I rubbed myself against him while I sucked him pretty wetly - when I was
done his pants front was wet with my saliva.  I usually am a "bobber" -
moving my head back and forth with a lot of puckered cheek action, but I
sucked on him like a nursing baby sucks a nipple.  Deep hungry gulps.

   I found that I slid my knees forward so that I was actually straddling
one leg and my cunt was sitting on his foot.  I was almost grateful for
that contact and rubbed myself against his black leather shoe for all it
was worth - grinding myself into the laces.  I was making noises that were
animal and kind of gross I think - it's perhaps a weak way to describe it
but they were slurping noises - loud and sloppy.

   When he was about to cum, he reached to pull my head back - I think he
was trying to warn me.  I was surprised and let him go with my mouth - and
a spurt of semen hit my cheek and the left lens of my glasses - going all
the way up my forehead and even into my hair.  I'm not really a facial
person - so I went back down on him hard and managed to swallow the next
three or four contractions, my messy face further soiling the front of his
pants, which he told me was a bit embarrassing for him later.

   I sat there for another minute just suckling him - thinking maybe I
could get him back, but also wondering how far things would go if I did, so
I eventually spit him out with my tongue and licked him off and also some
of the cum that had accumulated on his lap.  I sat there for another
minute, slumping down off his shoe to sit on one cheek, resting my head on
his leg.  Neither of us said anything and we were both out of breath.

   For perhaps the first time since he entered the room was I stopped to
consider what I was doing and I should have been mortified but instead I
just giggled and sat there.  I had a big bunch of cum on my boob when I
stood up - and I actually scraped it off with my finger and not knowing
what to do with it, I flung it at my computer monitor on the desk.  It was
a cocky move - very amusing - and we both laughed.

   We sat and just looked at each other - him enjoying the site of me
topless and soiled with his seed.  Finally, I let him know that while I had
enjoyed the evening, the janitor was going to be coming through any minute
and so we should probably collect ourselves.  (Not true exactly, but I was
a bit paranoid someone might come by - or maybe that they already had.)

   I put my bra back on slowly and noticed that he was in no hurry to tuck
himself back in.  I buttoned my blouse and he was still not moving - so I
got back on my knees and put him back in with my hands, taking a minute to
kiss it one more time and then had him stand so I could button him up.

   I gathered by jacket and packed my briefcase.  I realized I was looking
through a cloud and grabbed a Kleenex to clean my glasses and ran my
fingers through my hair to break up a clot that had already dried there. 
For the life of me, I really don't remember what we said after that or how
we said our goodbyes.  We did not take the same elevator down to the
street. He left the next morning for home, so I was spared the morning
small talk.

   I remember when I got home, my husband was actually there.  (A rarity as
he traveled - I was expecting to just find our nanny and daughter.) I knew
I was mess so I told him I was emotional and had been crying, which I hoped
would account for my makeup and appearance in general.  He put our girl
down in her crib, then took me upstairs, and put me to bed too.  We had
slow, tender sex after a long time just laying there saying nothing.  He
was asleep moment after finishing, but I never sleep much and lay wide
awake.

   I got up later that night because I was hungry.  (We had never had
dinner).  I passed a mirror and looked, afraid I would find telltale flakes
of dried cum puckering my cheek.

   But all I saw was my own gaze confidently looking back at me through the
glass.