My affair with the female supervisor at my workplace

Although I've always frequented confidential areas, I'm too embarrassed to write about my own devices. I usually end up peeping into other people's privacy, and looking back, I do feel a little ashamed. Today, while having dinner with my supervisor, I had a few drinks and felt a bit tipsy, so I'll just casually mention some of my personal affairs.

Let me give you a brief introduction. I work as a network administrator and office secretary at a state-owned enterprise. I'm a young, unmarried man in my early 30s, and I've been working for over six years. I've only had close contact with about five women: young girls, young women, and mature women. One of them was a high school classmate; we were both virgins and it lasted about a year. The young woman was someone I had a naive relationship with during my university years with a female bar owner. As for the young and mature women, the two young girls were one-night stands—it was purely psychological during a night out at a club, fueled by alcohol, and there was no real physical intimacy. The mature woman, well, to be precise, she's a 40-year-old mature woman, the female protagonist of this story, my boss, the Party Secretary. She's capable and straightforward, but severely lacking in femininity; let's call her Z.

With her, well, it felt like most relationships developed similarly. The more we interacted, the more trust we built, and naturally, some mysterious yet exciting things began to happen. To be specific, I'm the office secretary. This Z isn't highly educated; a vocational school graduate, or more accurately, a technical school graduate. His writing skills are average, but his speaking ability is superb. He can talk but not write, so over time, certain reports and requests have become something I have to rack my brains and work late into the night to draft. Of course, to become a leader managing over 500 state-owned enterprises at 36, well, you should imagine his abilities in all aspects are definitely not lacking. As for his behind-the-scenes work, well, I guess it goes without saying, everyone knows, especially for female leaders. Without some skillful behind-the-scenes maneuvering and a solid backing, it's basically impossible to get there, especially at such a young age.

Okay, enough rambling, let's get to the point. This Z, well, she's definitely beautiful, but she doesn't really know how to dress. She always wears a black or maroon suit, and as everyone knows, suits always reveal something, especially in summer with those low-cut cardigan shirts. Plus, her bust is quite large, probably a D cup or higher, later confirmed to be 75. It always results in a big tear in her bra. What I remember most vividly was one time when Z and I were working overtime during our lunch break, rushing to finish some materials. I inadvertently noticed half of my breasts were exposed, slippery, and constantly swaying in front of me. This made me lose my composure too. Z was sitting in the swivel chair next to me, and his large breasts were practically bursting out of his suit jacket collar (almost the entire sphere was completely visible). My God, how could I sit still? But Z was focused on the manuscript and didn't pay much attention to the work. By the afternoon, my face was probably as red as Guan Yu's, and you can imagine how much my "umbrella" had bulged out. What's infuriating is that our carefree secretary seemed completely unaware of his exposed state, just staring at the computer screen, constantly swaying back and forth. Oh my god, I was so worried! Around the time we started work in the afternoon, someone came in... A female worker, probably noticing something amiss, exchanged a glance with the secretary. The secretary seemed to realize this then and arranged for me to continue. She and the female worker went into the suite at the hotel to discuss work. I was finally free!

Further work involved a nationwide business inspection a few years ago. I accompanied Z to various places for inspections. Of course, local officials would host banquets, and with the local county magistrates accompanying us, I remember it was the fifth day of the trip. We were inspecting inventory accounts in a relatively remote county town. Afterwards, the local bureau chief and relevant county leaders accompanied us for a meal that lasted about six hours! My poor Z, under the influence of everyone's ulterior motives and flattery, inevitably got quite drunk. The other female worker and male leader who accompanied us also... Almost like a heroic sacrifice, after the party ended, the driver and I helped everyone onto the oxcarts, staggering back to our lodgings. I'm a bit tall and stout, so it wasn't too difficult for me, but the driver was a different story. He was thin and weak, practically limp. I have to admire Z; he was definitely a veteran of the alcohol battlefield, a real slumbering smoky mess, but his manners were impeccable. He talked a lot, but unlike that female cadre who was all talk and no action. After a while, Z and I went back to our room. But unexpectedly, as soon as we entered, Z collapsed at the door, completely sprawled out. No matter how much I pulled him, he wouldn't get up. Of course, while I was quite exhausted, I also had a perfect opportunity to enjoy the alluring scenery of his upper body and the endless spring-like beauty of his lower body. When I finally managed to get up... I managed to get her onto the bed, then went to the adjacent suite, agonizing over my next move and what I should do. I smoked repeatedly in the suite, lost in thought. I don't know how much time passed, but suddenly she appeared behind me, first violently pressing against my face, then staggering towards the bathroom, only to collapse again at the bathroom door, looking like she was about to vomit. Ignoring my own pain, I quickly helped her to the sink. The bathroom was instantly filled with the strong smell of alcohol and food. She leaned against the sink, laughing, and said, "So pathetic, your nose is bleeding." I noticed the bright red blood on her nose and the small red flowers adorning her wet shirt. Looking at her disheveled hair... Her clothes were disheveled, half her buttocks peeking out from under her oversized suit skirt—what an embarrassing sight! Then, Z, looking at me through the large glass window with a half-smile, slid his hand in his usual casual yet authoritative tone and said something that struck me as anything but ordinary: "You didn't do anything to me, did you?" I was stunned. I didn't know what to say, just staring blankly as Z went about his business of washing up. I looked at Z awkwardly and said, "Secretary Z, I see you're sober now, so I'll go first. You should rest." Z followed me out and suddenly said, "Little T, come with me to get some soup and rice; my stomach is churning." I then checked my watch—it was already 4:30.

Stepping out of the hotel, under the bright moonlight, a cold wind blew. Z was almost sober now. We... We chatted casually, and this was the first time since I started working that I truly understood Deng Kang's situation. Her husband had become paralyzed in his third year as secretary, and she had a daughter under 16 in high school and an elderly mother nearing 70. She was still relatively healthy. Her rapid rise to power was partly due to the favors of her husband's classmate (the deputy head of the organization department), and partly driven by the pressure of her family life. This conversation was also the first time I had spoken so intimately with Z, and the first time I realized that even someone as seemingly superior and powerful as her was just an emotional woman. Whether it was sadness or the beautiful, quiet moonlight, Z would occasionally stop and lean on my shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Her usually dignified and imposing figure was now... Her sudden gentleness and warmth were truly captivating. In a noodle shop that stayed open all night and seemed reasonably well-decorated, Z, under the warm orange light, seemed even more melancholic. (She shed tears for the first time.) Looking at her haughty yet alluring appearance, perhaps we were truly moved at that moment. The instant I was naked, Z's eyes held a thousand emotions. Involuntarily, my lips touched Z's. After a long while, Z turned her face and smiled, saying, "Why does your mouth smell like vomit?" I quickly replied, "No, it's all your smell." We both laughed, and the awkward situation instantly eased. We

walked together, chatting and laughing. Z's words to me lacked their usual sternness, replaced by a gentle warmth, her eyes filled with feminine light. I no longer consciously maintained a certain distance from Z as I used to. The two of us were very close; at first glance, we looked more like a close brother and sister, or cousins. On the empty street, the cleaning crew was already tidying up, making occasional rustling sounds. I intentionally tugged at Z's hand, and she didn't flinch. It had taken us almost an hour to walk the two-kilometer stretch to our destination, and we were still holding hands then. I can still feel the soft, rubbing sensation in her hand. As we approached the hotel, Z seemed to perk up, letting go of my hand. She walked ahead, as if in her usual work mode. I hurriedly pressed the elevator button, and Z went up alone. I returned to my room on the first floor, idly thinking, "Sigh, I thought I could achieve something today." Immediately, I felt a pang of regret, realizing I had missed so many good opportunities.

For a long time afterward, things between Z and me were always ambiguous. When there were other people around, her tone was sharp, but when it was just the two of us, she would become extremely gentle. Of course, nothing more intimate ever happened between us. Sometimes I think that maybe Z's interaction that night was just a spontaneous emotional release. She probably just saw me as someone who wasn't mature enough or close enough to her. In Z's eyes, I was still too young, and there was a distance between us.

We visited her husband several times before his death. The last time I saw him, although he was still relatively young, not even 48, he seemed very suicidal and resistant to treatment. Z often cried and pleaded with him to take his medication, but he always kept his mouth tightly shut and wept along with her. This continued for the next month. Because of his already weak constitution, he couldn't easily absorb fluids and quickly collapsed, passing away not long after. Z's condition was very poor during this time, so the office manager and the union leader suggested that our office take the lead in working with people from Z's husband's workplace to help. With some persuasion and others busy, the work was completed quickly.
Afterwards, Z kept talking about her past work, how difficult her husband's life was, and how she hadn't taken good care of him, etc. She would sometimes lift her head emotionally. Looking at me, he asked, "Am I an unfit wife?" and so on. We hugged and cried like that, and I couldn't tell if it was Z who initiated it or me. Anyway, our lips met again. Z seemed very agitated, his body trembling. Our tongues intertwined, caressing each other awkwardly and unnaturally. I was suddenly overcome with desire and involuntarily reached my hand under his skirt. His slightly warm panties were damp. Z, whether unaccustomed or embarrassed, quickly removed my hand. We just continued kissing and caressing each other. My hand moved disheveledly, sometimes rubbing back and forth on Z's soft, high breasts, sometimes slipping my hand under his skirt to gently knead them. Z seemed very uncomfortable, unsure of where to go. She had no choice but to let me explore her body, while she used her tongue to tightly hook and suck on mine, her eyes closed, her body rising and falling heavily with each breath. Then, I gently pushed her down onto the sofa and began kissing her face, slowly moving downwards, taking off her coat, her underwear, and kissing her neck, breasts, stomach, and navel. When I started to remove her stockings and panties, she looked at me with a dazed expression and said, "No, you can't do this," repeatedly, her voice like that of my ex-girlfriend, sweet and seductive, so incredibly alluring. How could I resist? I continued to caress and kiss her large breasts, her fair skin, and the patches of red dots on her neck. Hehe, she kept wriggling, taking advantage of... I nimbly pulled down her pants, and then, with a quick, deliberate motion, I removed them. I gently undressed her, and with a quick, firm touch, I gently pulled down her pants. I then gently pulled down her pants again, and with a quick, firm touch, I gently pulled down her pants again ... ⒂蒙嗤非崆角睦椿嘏ぷ咕⒆ё盼业耐贩ⅲ詹豢瞬患暗拇竽暌股艚泻艋阶牛聿拿砍槎幌拢旅嬉財崢谋蘸弦淮危械桨旅罴耍膊恢强谒昭乃钠餍担竟镜牧鞒隼矗成虾由喜弊由隙际牵拇竌雇壬希驳摄鲜囊淮竌蛊！！！ ?br /> About a month later, leaders from the national and district authorities came to inspect and research the area. Z accompanied them, and after the food and drinks were arranged, I drove home alone. It was around 2 or 3 a.m. when the phone rang. It was Z, asking me to pick her up. It was at another location. Z seemed to be in okay condition, just slightly drunk, but her expression was terrible, and she seemed to be in a bad mood. Apparently, one of Z's former colleagues who came to inspect the area told Z about their past work and life together, which touched Z deeply. She thought of her husband again, and her heart... The situation soured for a moment, but Z remained Z, knowing how to handle things. At the dinner table, he made a big show of things, praising the "big boss" to the skies. He then arranged a trip to a nearby scenic area, with a driver accompanying him to arrange accommodations and entertainment. A little while later, he remembered me and asked me to keep him company and chat to ease his mind.

After getting in the car, I said, "Secretary Z, are we going home?" Z said, "No, my daughter and mother are asleep. I don't want to go. Let's go to your place." I was overjoyed; it seemed like things were going well today, I thought.

Afterwards... Z glanced around at me for a moment, while I busied myself making tea and pouring water. "The house is nicely decorated, but the smell is awful," Z said, sitting down on the sofa. He sounded a little better, so I quickly brought him some honey tea. We drank some tea and chatted for a while. Z teased me, saying things like I hadn't disturbed my girlfriend and me, then suddenly burst into tears, saying, "Sigh, why did he leave so early?" I quickly tried to comfort him, but Z, who had been crying, threw himself on me and sobbed loudly. I was momentarily at a loss, stroking her hair and then her back, not daring to be too abrupt or reckless.

At that moment, she gripped my back tightly and vigorously stroked her chest, moaning and groaning, her body twisting. Suddenly, she clamped her thighs tightly around my head and pressed them firmly against my back, as if crying, moaning and groaning, her mouth constantly muttering, "Fuck me to death, husband." I couldn't do anything about it, just staring at her red, fleshy lower body... Following the movement of her pubic hair, which trembled slightly...

I guessed she had just climaxed. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I climbed onto her body, swiftly pulled down my pants, and suddenly thrust my already throbbing penis deep into her body. Still seemingly immersed in her orgasm, she suddenly cried out "Oh!" and looked at me again, her eyes glazed over, cupping my face and saying things like, "Husband, fuck me until I die," and "I can't take it anymore." I thrust in and out forcefully, the sounds of our bodies colliding accompanied by the sizzling of her juices. The sound of [something] echoed. At that moment, I felt that even the magnificent riverside scenery and the flowing traffic outside couldn't compare to the moans of a sweet dream. It was such a hazy and unrestrained night, so enjoyable.

That night, Z seemed to have truly not enjoyed himself like this in a long time. After two consecutive orgasms, he was completely unable to move, lying on the sofa, holding me, covered with a down jacket the company had just issued, and peacefully falling asleep until after 8 a.m. the next morning…

For the next two years, Z and I maintained this kind of relationship, sometimes… The story is etched in my mind. Sometimes, in his office suite, during a rather exciting lunch break, we'd be making love. Outside, there would be the occasional patter of footsteps. She was always very restrained, perhaps a little embarrassed. In public, I'd moan very loudly (almost deafeningly), but in the office, she was very controlled, just breathing heavily. I really admired her endurance. I once heard her say that she often drank alcohol, keeping it in her mouth for a long time and still being able to talk without anyone noticing. Then, when no one was looking, she would vomit. (She always pretended to be drunk.) But she really exaggerated when it came to drinking. Even though she's over 43, she could drink more than a bottle of liquor and still be perfectly normal. After getting drunk, she would just vomit, sobering up quickly—that's the method she taught me.

I remember one time, we were really getting into it when suddenly a call came in from a guide I had to answer. I was on top of her, thrusting hard, and she was still calmly talking. When the caller asked what was wrong, she said she was observing at a construction site. It cracked me up.

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My affair with the female supervisor at my workplace

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