Chapter 1 — My Affair with the Office Accountant

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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It happened three years ago. At the time, I was a 29-year-old bachelor running a small office.

But every time I hired a young woman as my accountant, she'd skip work at the slightest excuse, and once she got the hang of things, she'd vanish to another job. It was driving me absolutely insane.

Anyone who's run a small office knows how crucial the accountant's role is.

Handling cash flow, answering calls and taking messages when I was out, tracking inventory—when I was the master of the outside world, the accountant was the mistress of the inner one.

When the position kept turning over, it didn't just disrupt operations—it damaged my business's reputation. So after endless frustration, I made a decision: I'd hire someone older, between 30 and 40.

I put up a sign in front of the office: Accountant Wanted. Soon, a woman who looked to be in her late thirties came by.

Perfect, I thought. "Do you have your resume?" I asked, gesturing to a chair.

She sat down, reached into her handbag, and handed me a plain white envelope.

Ugh!

I nearly jumped when I saw her birth year on the ID. The woman who looked late thirties was actually 45—forty-five years old.

I was disappointed, but after all the trouble with younger hires, I decided to go ahead with the interview.

"You haven't worked in accounting recently?" I asked.

"No. After marriage, I had children and raised them. Now I want a life of my own," she said.

I studied her resume again, then looked at her. "Can you use a computer?"

"I went to a training academy for two months when I decided to get a job. I also practiced at home with my kids. I can manage a little."

"How long do you plan to stay?"

"As long as you don't push me away, I'll stay as long as I can," she said, smiling. Her dimples were beautiful.

"Alright. What should I call you…?" I smiled.

"Call me whatever's easiest," she replied, grinning.

"Calling you 'ma'am' feels awkward, and 'Miss Yoon' sounds like an insult," I joked.

She laughed. "Call me Sarah."

"Then that's what I'll do," I said, laughing. "Start tomorrow at nine."

She clasped both hands together. "Thank you so much, President! I'll work hard!"

"See you tomorrow, then. Oh, and take down the Accountant Wanted sign on your way out."

"I'll be here by nine tomorrow," she said, bowing deeply before leaving.

From the next day on, Sarah came to work without a single absence. Within just twenty days, she'd mastered everything so thoroughly that I could leave the office whenever I needed to.

One month passed. Then two. Three. And then the fourth.

I'd always been a man with a strong sex drive, and when it was just the two of us in the office, I often made lewd jokes.

That day, we were alone again. Sarah wore a dress, and the way it hugged her body stirred my desire.

I looked at her and asked, "Is your sex life with your husband okay?"

She smiled. "Just so-so."

Then she turned to me. "How do you handle your urges, President?"

"What choice does a bachelor have? Hand-washing," I joked, laughing.

"You should find a girlfriend and get married soon," she said, smiling.

"Who'd want a guy like me? I'm not handsome, and I don't have money."

"If I were single, I'd go after a decent man like you right away," she said, still smiling.

The dimples in her cheeks made my blood rush straight to my cock.

I wanted nothing more than to grab her, lift her dress, and shove myself inside her. But I held back—what if she accused me of harassment? I'd be ruined.

Then she said, "President… do men really enjoy it when women suck their… you know?"

I snapped to attention. "Of course! It feels great. I've heard semen is even good for a woman's skin."

"My husband doesn't know anything about that," she said, staring straight at me.

"Would you… want to try it?" I asked.

She blushed and nodded.

Gathering courage, I pulled my cock out. She didn't hesitate—like she'd been waiting—she started sucking it right away.

Uhhhhhh!

She was inexperienced, but she did a surprisingly good job. I slipped my hand under her dress and touched her nipple.

Suddenly, she pulled her mouth off, lifted her dress, took off her panties, and went back to sucking.

My cock, like a fish in water, throbbed harder than ever, thrilled by her warm mouth.

I took my hand off her breast and started jerking myself faster.

"Want to swallow?" I asked.

She looked up, my cock still in her mouth, and nodded.

All those times my cum had vanished into toilet paper or the toilet bowl—today, it was finally going into a woman's mouth. The thought made me pump even faster.

"I'm coming!" I groaned. A flood of cum surged into her mouth. She swallowed it all—gulp, gulp, gulp—without spilling a drop.

When she finished, she lifted her dress, sat on the chair, and spread her legs.

I knew exactly what she'd wanted. I'd been waiting too.

Her pussy was overflowing, a deep pool of wetness waiting for my tongue.

"Ahhh… hnnn… yes!" she moaned.

My fingers ravaged her hole. When I touched her, she went wild.

"Ahh! It's strange! Ahhh!"

Her pussy gushed endlessly, liquid pouring out in waves.

I stopped sucking and turned her around, then used my tongue to tease and lap at her clit.

"President, what's happening to me? What is this? Aaaaaaah!"

She loved being touched. Inside, her pussy had already refilled, like a spring welling up.

Then I glanced at the clock—my sales staff would be back soon. I had to finish.

"Sarah," I said, "how's your evening?"

She looked at me. "Why?"

I smiled. "We need to finish what we started."

"Where?" she asked.

"You pick the place."

"Let's not waste money. Do it here," she said, revealing the practical housewife beneath.

After work, once the sales staff had left, she locked the office door from the inside, lifted her dress, and took off her panties.

In her hand was a small cloth—soaked with yellow wetness. She'd been leaking so much during work, she'd needed to squeeze it out.

"Sarah," I teased, "you've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

She smiled her dimpled smile. "Don't talk! I'm in trouble now. You're responsible," she said, lifting her skirt and pushing her ass toward me.

Her plump cheeks begged to be slapped, to be filled.

I dropped my pants to my ankles, stepped behind her, and slipped a finger into her hole. It was pure spring water—soaking, warm, endless.

"You always this wet?" I asked, no longer seeing her as a 45-year-old woman, but as my lover.

"No! You made me like this! Please, just fuck me!" she turned and pleaded.

I pressed my cock against her entrance, gripped her hips, and thrust deep.

"Ahh—black! It's too big!" she cried, already swaying her hips.

I started pumping slowly.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk home tonight. Understand?"

"Yes! Please, just do it!" she laughed, and I gradually picked up speed.

Pffft! Pffft! The sound of flesh slapping flesh echoed through the small office.

"Ahh—black! So good! Hnnn—aaaaah! Hic! Hic!* Her moans suddenly turned to sobs.

"Honey… I'm dying! I'm dying! Aaaah! Hic! Hic!* She thrashed wildly, crying like a madwoman.

"Good?" I asked.

"Don't talk to me," she snapped—her voice already changed, raw with pleasure.

"I'm going to destroy you today. Understand?"

"Do whatever you want. Just don't make me talk," she gasped, grinding harder.

"Aaaah! I'm dying!" she screamed, collapsing onto the desk.

I slapped her ass cheeks. "Snap out of it!"

"I'm fine! I'm dying, that's all!" she cried, and I relaxed—then started pumping again.

"Can I cum inside?" I asked.

She lifted her hips higher, shaking them. "Do whatever you want!"

Inside me, cum fought to burst out, boiling in my balls.

She pressed her head against the desk, pulling my hips closer.

I came—hard. More than I'd ever come before.

When I pulled out, she turned around, took my cock in her mouth, and sucked every last drop.

Then I bent her over the desk again, shoved back inside, and pounded her for a long time. When I pulled out and thrust back in, she screamed.

"Ahh!"

"You want it in the ass too?" I asked.

She turned, her face twisted in pain. "I've never done that! It hurts! Be gentle!"

I nodded and started slowly.

As I thrust, I grabbed her full breasts.

"I don't know… it's strange…" she moaned, then started moving her hips again.

"Heh! Heh! Heh!" I laughed.

"What's so funny?" she gasped.

"It's funny—just a second ago you said it hurt, and now you're saying it's strange," I said.

"Don't mock me! Aaaah! What is this?! Are you trying to kill me? I don't know! I don't know! Just kill me! Mom! I'm dying! Mom! Hic! Hic!* She sobbed again.

I'd heard women cried during sex, but experiencing it firsthand scared me.

"Do you cry like this with your husband?" I asked.

"When he's good, yes. But not lately… Aaah—hic! Hic!* Her crying was almost a wail.

"Do you want to cry like this every day?" I asked.

She wiped her tears with her palm. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You're not looking down on me just because I'm older?"

"What are you talking about? I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you in that interview," I growled, thrusting harder.

"Then why didn't you do it sooner… Aaah—black! Mom! I'm dying! What do I do?! Hic! Hic!* She broke down again.

Another wave of cum gathered, rising in my balls like soldiers charging.

A moment later, I came deep inside her. Even half-dead, she grabbed my hips and pulled me deeper.

After I finished, I rushed to the bathroom to wash. She crawled toward me, like a wounded animal.

"I thought I was going to die," she whispered—her voice suddenly soft, polite again.

"From now on, I'll kill you every day," I said, my tone returning to normal.

We cleaned up quickly, shared a long kiss, and went our separate ways.

After that, she became my go-to for sexual release—and I became hers.

Now, I have a family of my own. But sometimes, out of nowhere, I think of her.

She must be 48 now. But in my memory, her body still holds the firmness, the heat, of a woman in her late thirties.