It was inconceivable that the raunchy couple had forgotten to bolt the door so I shamelessly dropped down to my knees and peered through the key-hole. A scene which instantly confirmed my suspicions about this 'private conference' met my gaze!
The large mahogany table had been cleared of all papers and lying across it, stark naked, was Mr. MacArthur. His somewhat corpulent belly sagged without the restriction of the abdominal belt I saw lying across the back of a chair, but he could still be proud of the state of his thick prick which was standing up smartly enough and looked to be in fine fettle. Keeping his pulsing cock as stiff as a poker was Miss Thompson who was standing at his side and whose outstretched hand was rubbing his rigid rod. She occasionally varied the frigging by bending down and planting a wet kiss on his bared helmet. The pretty slim brunette was only half dressed, because Mr. MacArthur had undone the top buttons of her dress: her pert breasts had freed themselves and jiggled saucily up and down, mouth-wateringly ripe for the touch of lips or fingers.
'Rub harder, Annabel, there's a good girl,' grunted Mr. MacArthur. 'Ah yes, that's lovely. Now put your other hand round my balls and give them a gentle squeeze.'
Annabel Thompson obliged the managing editor of Hart field and Moser by caressing his ballsack in her hand while she continued to toss him off until, with a hoarse growl, Mr. MacArthur shuddered and a fountain of frothy jism shot our from the 'eye' of his knob, drenching her hands and liberally anointing the boardroom table.
'Oh dear, I hope the charwoman will be able to get rid of those spunky stains,' she remarked, sliding her hand up and down his shaft to milk the last drops of spermy cum from Mr. MacArthur's twitching tool.
I would have liked to call out to them that a dab or two of Professor Goulthorpe's Ail-Purpose Cleaner would remove all traces of their audacious tryst, but this would hardly have been wise in the circumstances. So I said nothing and kept my eye glued to the key-hole.
'Fuck the charwoman,' said Mr. MacArthur thickly as he pulled Annabel towards him and manoeuvred his hands round her back to unbutton the remaining buttons of her dress.
'That's a job for you rather than me,' she giggled as she stepped out of her dress and pulled her slip over her head. 'My word, Geoffrey, your prick has only gone down a little bit. How does a man of your age manage to keep himself so virile?'
Naturally, Mr. MacArthur was flattered by this compliment. He winked at her and said: 'It may merely be the luck of the draw, I suppose, but for what it's worth, I've found that eating only a light breakfast and taking regular exercise keeps me fighting fit. Now, my dear Annabel, if you would just give my cock a little suck whilst you take off your knickers, I think you'll find I'll be more than ready to fuck the arse off you.'
The willing girl obeyed and swirled her tongue over his knob whilst she divested herself of her drawers. Then she let out a tiny squeal as Mr. MacArthur pulled her up onto the table next to him and, grabbing her luscious bottom, pressed his mouth against hers. Annabel responded by wrapping her arms around him. However, Mr. MacArthur drew back to feast his eyes on her jutting young breasts and on the curly fleece of chestnut hair which covered her cuntal mount.
He slowly moved himself on top of her and pressed her knees apart to admire the glistening moist folds of her cunt. Holding his throbbing tool in his hand, he placed his straining bell-end between her puffy pussey lips and guided his cock into her juicy crack.
'Ahhh!' groaned Mr. MacArthur, swivelling round on the table so that his back was now directly in front of me as he slid into Annabel's slippery sheath. He began to fuck the delectable girl with short bucking movements, making his buttocks wobble in a sensual animated rhythm. She matched him thrust for thrust and they were soon rocking so fiercely that they seemed in danger of falling to the floor!
Her legs shook and trembled but it became clear that Mr. MacArthur would be first to cross the finishing line when he growled: 'I'm going to shoot into you now, Annabel! That's it, my girl, frig my cock with your magic little cunney muscles!'
'Yes! Yes! Oh, Geoffrey, I'm cumming with you!' she howled as she continued to squirm under the surging strokes of his pulsing prick.
'I'm spunking, Annabel! Feel it! Take it all!' he panted breathlessly. The raunchy pair moaned in a voluptuous orchestration of lustful sighs as they climaxed together. Mr. MacArthur pumped jet after jet of love juice into his secretary's eager quim as she gripped his bum cheeks and pulled his spurting shaft deeper inside her.
Now I would do myself a kindness by drawing a veil over the next minute or so. But I promised to set down an uncensored account of my private life so I will record the fact that, as I moved back a step to straighten up from my eavesdropping position at the door, I tripped over my holdall and a wordless cry escaped from my lips as I went down with a thud onto the carpet.
I scrambled to my feet but, of course, Annabel and Mr. MacArthur were now aware that there was somebody outside. I heard Annabel shout out in panic: 'Who's there? Who's there?'
'It's only me, Andrew Scott,' I called back and, after giving a perfunctory knock on the door, I attempted to open it, not expecting for one second to find it open.
However, to my astonishment, it became plain that Mr. MacArthur had forgotten to take the most elementary precaution against being discovered and had left the door unlocked. I sailed into the room to catch my boss ejaculating the final drops of his spunky emission into Annabel's cunt.
To his credit, my boss instantly hauled himself up and attempted to shield Annabel's naked body with his own. 'Andrew, would you please wait for me downstairs in my office,' he said coolly with an admirable level of composure in his voice, 'I will be with you as soon as possible but you must allow me time to get dressed.'
'Of course, sir,' I murmured and backed out of the room, taking care to close the door firmly behind me.
Five minutes later he came into his office together with Annabel whose face was flushed. She was the first to speak, blurting out her apologies, but I held up my hand and interrupted her by declaring: 'Please say no more, Miss Thompson, you had no reason to expect me to breach your privacy. Why, I shouldn't even be in the office today! So if any apology is due it should be from me for my unwelcome intrusion.'
Naturally this fine speech impressed Mr. MacArthur who told Annabel to make the three of us a nice pot of tea. After she had scurried out of the office, he turned to me and shook me warmly by the hand. 'Thank you, my boy. I said to Miss Thompson as we came downstairs that I knew you could be relied on to be discreet.
'How could I have been so foolish? It was almost criminally stupid not to have locked the door. My goodness, it's as well that it was you who caught us in the act and not someone like our chairman who would affect great shock and displeasure at my immoral behaviour and then demand my immediate resignation.'
I gave a wry smile. 'Would he really? Well, that's not my style and not only because I too have been surprised in a similar embarrassing situation. No, it is because, in my experience, moral indignation is often simple jealousy with the addition of a halo instead of a hat!'
'I couldn't agree more though, to be fair to Lord Neumann, I don't know whether that stricture would apply as far as he is concerned,' said Mr. MacArthur as he plumped himself down in his chair. 'Still, I've learned my lesson, Andrew. If I ever manage to persuade Annabel up to the boardroom again, I'll make damned sure to lock the blasted door! It's not as if either of us are married but as Moliere's sardonic little couplet puts it: “Le scandale du monde est ce qui fait l'offence: et ce n 'est pas pecher que pecher en silence.”'
Mr. MacArthur let out a thoughtful sigh and continued: 'Anyhow, what brings you here today, Andrew? Are you going to tell me you have found a nugget amongst the dross of the “slush” pile?'
'Well, I don't know if this novel could be called a nugget,' I said doubtfully as I unbuckled the catch on my holdall and passed Miss Wiggins's manuscript across the desk to him. 'But it's certainly very different from anything else I've been given to read.'
However, somewhat to my chagrin, Mr. MacArthur only glanced at the top page before handing the sheaf of paper back to me. With a slight smile on his face, he said: 'Mea culpa, I should have warned you about Abigail Wiggins, she's been sending us one of these racy stories about every six months since the old Queen died. This one must have slipped through the net because these days we return them to her promptly with only a printed rejection slip. I'll give this latest effort to Annabel and she'll put it in this afternoon's post.
'I do hope you didn't get too excited about your find, Andrew, though I dare say you didn't find it too much of a chore to read through Miss Wiggins's latest steamy story. As it happens, her scripts are rather well-written-but of course I would find myself at the Old Bailey if I tried to publish them! Really, the only way she will ever get into print is if she goes to Paris and shows her stuff to a French publisher. I can think of two or three firms there who would be very interested in her naughty novels.'
Annabel now came into the room bearing a tray with a silver teapot and jugs of milk and hot water. But,
