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Sir Bondage sank to his knees to gather his clothes from under the desk where he had dropped them so hastily nearly an hour before. He contemplated remaining there, hidden by the heavy oak furniture that had been handed down in his family through the generations, for the rest of the day. Still, he managed to wiggle his green boxers, his favourite pair with the grey elastic, back on and peeped over the desk to see if the young woman had had the decency to look away.

She had. She had looked away long enough to shrug out of her own clothes and so presented a disbelieving Sir Bondage with the sight of her comely body with its big boobies nestled in a black lace bra that looked as if it would break under the weight of her breasts, a matching thong and suspenders with a garter around her plump thighs highlighted legs and an arse that had been fodder for the man's wet dreams for months even though he had not seen them quite so close up.

Sir Bondage could not help himself. He was excited and he could no more hide that fact than he could still captain the Villiers House cricket team at Eaton. He found himself trembling and he had to hold on to the back of his chair in order to maintain even a smattering of his dignity.

Clarice was flattered. Sir Bondage had been very kind to her since her arrival at his estate six months earlier. He had been very generous to her even before that since he helped her to get her first collection of short stories published. He had even hired her to help him to write his memoirs and a chronicle of the adventures of the members of his family from the time of the very first Sir Bondage Grey who had been nearly lost to the family in the Greek isles, to himself in the present day. True he had less to offer to the tome than did many of his illustrious ancestors, but then she had said that she needed a job in order to remain in the country to pursue her career as a serious novelist, and Sir Bondage did have a weakness for comely West Indian girls.

Clarice had no problem with the fact that her employer obviously found her attractive. He had never made so bold as to make an advance on her, and it touched her to think that he was longing for her on the quiet. He had mentioned his affair with an anonymous Ms. S. during the early 1980s and Clarice reflected that she had wondered if this woman was real of if Sir Bondage were just putting some spice into his sections of their books.

Well, if it was spice that he needed, then it would be spice that he would get. She bent over in her sexy undies, ostensibly to adjust her high-heeled shoes and so presented Sir Bondage with a view of her delectable twenty-two year old Jamaican backside.

This, she thought, was much more erotic than the nude photographs of her that he had been viewing when she came into the room. She wondered briefly where he had got the photographs but remembered her fleeting impression that they were taken when she was in the bathroom upstairs in her suite. She promised herself that she would have to look for more of his hidden cameras since the angle of the two photographs that she had managed to glimpse suggested that there was one located just above her bookshelf.

Clarice sauntered toward the naughty older gentleman who stood transfixed at the sight before him. He had raised a tent inside his boxers and the woman got to her knees before him and used her teeth to remove the cloth and allow his dick to fly free. His precum splattered her across the face, and his dick spanked her face twice. It was quite an involuntary act, but seeing this caused the man to cum instantly.

Clarice caught his bobbing cock in her mouth and sucked him hard trying to extract the cum from his turgid, fevered penis. She gripped his legs so that he could not move and dug her fingernails into his buttocks to let him know that she was in charge for the moment.

Sir Bondage cried out in ecstasy and came again.

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