Heavy Petting on the Northern Line

Heavy Petting on the Northern Line Charing Cross Branch to Mill Hill East.

Fucking your boss is never a great idea, but it sure as hell has its advantages.

No, I’m not fucking my boss… yet… but I somehow get a thrill thinking about doing it one day. It’s all about power. Power is sexy. I want to be on top of the guy who’s on top. Tony Soprano is sexy because of all the power he wields. I understand why Monica Lewinsky went for Bill Clinton. It’s such an ego boost. It’s like, “Hey I’m fucking the top guy. That must make me shit.”

This adventure here in which I get finger-fucked on the Northern Line has a long back-story. I’m a bit sick of reiterating in detail (as I’ve already told several people), but I’ll summarize it quickly.

A couple years ago when I was hired here at this Big Media/Television company I began my career here as a production assistant. Sometimes being a PA is shit work. It’s a lot of running around followed by a lot of waiting. I was assisting on a semi-popular reality TV show. At the end of filming there was a wrap party for the cast, crew & participants. At the wrap party after a few glasses of champagne the 1st AD and I began talking. I call him CS.

I never talked to CS (or at least don’t remember) while we were filming. He’s tall, blond hair, blue eyes. He is THE alpha male in the office. He loves cracking jokes and getting the attention of everyone in the room. I guess somehow, I was the only person he failed to impress with his so-called wit and humor. When he speaks, the whole room listens. I, on the other hand, could not care less. I do not shower him with attention like the others. Somehow he managed to catch my attention at the wrap party. He cornered me, literally and we spoke for an hour. A the end of the party we nearly snogged. At the last second he dodged my lips and went for the kiss on the cheek.

He eventually went on to become a director and would request me, specifically to work on his projects. We got to know each other better during the year. For about a year we were flirty with each other but nothing happened. Then one day we were on a shoot in Prague. There were 8 of us crew members out drinking. Slowly that number dwindled down to the two of us.

We went back to his hotel room. I didn’t fuck him. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. We snogged a few times. I purposely was playing hard to get so I didn’t let things go any further. Finally, CS asked me what it would take for me to fuck him. Without missing a beat I told him I wanted a promotion and raise. At the time, he wasn’t the one making those sort of decisions. He did, however, have influence. He put in a very good word for me, which lead to a promotion an sizable salary increase within 2 months. I know, it’s a cheeky way to move up the corporate ladder. At the time I was promoted, he too was promoted again, and officially became my boss. My promotion lead to the job I hold currently.

Now, in that 2 month period between asking for the promotion and getting it a few interesting things happened:
1. CS became besotted with me [read: obsessed]
2. CS admitted that he fancied me and it wasn’t just about the sex. (I know, could be a line.)
3. One drunken night during after-work drinks he pulled me aside and said that he had a secret to tell me. He said, “I have to tell you something, but I don’t know if I should.” He was nervous and serious. My curiosity piqued. “Oh go on” I encouraged him. He sighed and then said, “I’m a transvestite.” I looked him in the eye and said, “OK, no big deal. I’m a New Yorker. I’ve heard more shocking things.” I think he was stunned at how blasé my response was.

So outwardly, I was cool as a cucumber. Inside I was freaked the fuck out! Inside I was screaming, “OH MY GOD! That is some fucked-up shit” And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, he said. “There’s more.”

He then proceeded to tell me about how in his twenties he fell in love with a tranny named Stephan(ie). Now Stephanie identified as a woman. I didn’t ask if (s)he kept her bait and tackle. Anyhow, according to CS they were a love-struck, drugged-up, fucked-up couple on the dole living in a bedsit in Grimsby. CS said that Stephanie was profoundly unhappy and the drugs made it worse. He went on to say that one day he came back to the bedsit and found that Stephanie, the love of his life, had killed herself.

At this point I was overwhelmingly confused. How do you go from a drugged-up, on the dole, sort of gay relationship in Grimsby to married with kids and a great job and big house in London? Shit like that happens in the movies. How does that happen in real life? Also, why is he telling me this? Does he think that I look like a tranny? It was at that point in our conversation that I realized that I will never lead a normal life. I will always be surrounded by freaks.

I then started wondering what he would look like as a woman. How often does he dress up? Why hasn’t he told his wife? Who else knows? What is the point in telling me all this? Is there a such thing as a straight transvestite? And more importantly, how do I respond?

There was a lull in our conversation and finally I summed up everything with one word, “Crikey.”

So now, I have this huge secret about my boss. How bizarre? I mean to think that he’s one of the major people at the big Media/Television company? What would everyone else at the company say? This shit is unreal and if it weren’t happening to me, I would believe it.

I honestly don’t blame people for e-mailing me saying how all these stories are fantasies. These “stories” aren’t fantasies. This is my life. I know. It’s crazy. It’s fucked up. It’s wonderful. It’s sad. But it’s all me. This isn’t a fantasy life. There is no escape hatch for me.

So that is the back story with me & CS.

So last night, after work drinks. He left at quarter after 10. On his way out, I said to him, wait for me on the next corner. I went back into the pub, exited undetected through the side door and met CS at the corner.

We held hands as we walked several blocks together. We were somehow quietly confident that none of our co-workers were nearby.

We got on the Northern line. Our train car was more than half empty. We took to seats near the end. I told him that I had had a particularly naughty week. He urged me to tell him about it. I played it coy. “Tell me” he seductively whispered into my ear. I think proceeded to tell him about Humbert Humbert guy, who I called “daddy.” I also told him about D the really cute guy I met at the hotel.

CS grew more and more interested. Then I put my hand on his thigh. I felt a large bugle. “Oh my!” I said. I looked down, and realized that the bulge wasn’t his cock. It was just something in his pocket. “For a minute there, I thought that was your cock,” I said. He laughed, “Well, it could be…”

“Really?” I asked “Is your cock large?”

He looked a bit confused, “I don’t know. I don’t know who to compare it with?”

“Can I have a feel then” I asked, “I mean, is that too cheeky a thing to ask?”

He smiled. “Yes, go for it.”

I felt over his jeans for his cock. When I found it I smiled. I stroked it a few times. “Is that okay,” I asked? He answered yes, but I could tell that there was part of him feeling very guilty. He was between agony and ecstasy; right and wrong; cheating and remaining faithful.

I moved from stroking his cock over his jeans to squeezing it every so gently. By this time a couple took a seat across from us. I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned he and I were the only ones on the train.

I could feel his cock swell. “Anjelika,“ he hesitated “I’m married. I fancy you and I know that you fancy me.”

I looked at him strangely, “Who said anything about me fancying you?” I questioned him.

“Anjelika your hand is on my cock. I take it from that, that you fancy me.”

“Oh , right” I said. What a good way of looking at it. Sometimes with all my book smarts I just don’t have common sense. I honestly did not realize that I had fancied him until that moment. All this time I saw the situation as that he was a challenge to be conquered.

“But, I’m married and I don’t know…” his voice drifted off.

It’s cool. I’ll stop. I removed my hand from his cock and placed it by my side.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

I placed my hand on his jeans again. I felt for his cock. I kept squeezing. He wrapped on arm around me and reached for my bum.

“Oh,” he said sounding surprised “you’re wearing a thong.”

“Yes, it’s bright pink. Victoria’s secret. I’ll have to show you some time.”

I kept squeezing his cock. He brushed my hair aside and began kissing my ear which drives me crazy! He reposition himself and then stuck his hand up my jean skirt and began finger fucking me.

No, I didn’t cum. He only did it for 3 stops. I was really, really turned on at that point. He told me that I was a bad girl and I should be disciplined. I should be spanked. I concurred.

I wanted his cock so badly. I know that he wanted me too. But as he’s still married and drawn to his wife he got off the train at his usual stop.

Twenty minutes later I got call from him. He was on the overland train with a raging hard on. My panties were soaked through and I really wanted someone to fuck. But not just anyone. I wanted him.

CS and I exchanged a few saucy texts. At a certain point I stopped returning the texts. It’s my strategy to make him want more. He called me again, but I didn’t answer. I checked my voicemail later. He said that I’m very naughty and should be taken over his knee and spanked.

I’m going to save that voicemail. You never know when I may need to add to my cache of blackmail material about him.