Photographing Georgina Ch. 01

by new forester


Georgina Lent was my first boss. I was 19 and it was my first job, in a little accounts office, and Georgina Lent seemed ancient. Gradually, however, I had become infatuated with her, and very often thought about her at night. She did filthy things in my dreams.

I had bummed about for a couple of years previously, doing a few beach jobs down on the south coast, but I thought it was about time I found a more reliable job, and applied for a little accounts job, in a factory in East Anglia, only a few hours drive from where my family lived. I had moved into some nice 'lodgings' nearby, had a few 'O' levels to my name, and was offered the job, there and then, at the interview. The Financial Controller interviewed me, and the name Mrs Lent drifted past me as being 'Head of Section.' I met her on the following Monday morning, when I started, and, initially, she was just another middle-aged woman. Peroxide blonde, but still ancient as far as I was concerned.

My interest in women, up until then, had been girls of my own age or even younger, and Mrs Lent was just 'my boss.' I hadn't had a regular girlfriend since leaving the family home, and was just pleased to get a regular job. Georgina Lent seemed pleasant enough, and she was kind enough to remark on my firm handshake, but I paid no further heed as I was introduced to the two other women who worked in the 'purchase ledger' part of the office. They, also, held no interest for me, and I was a little depressed to find that I had got a job with three women, all old enough to be my mother.

However, over the coming months, I learnt a bit more about Georgina Lent, and she became intriguing. The women often gossiped between themselves, but Mrs Lent never let anyone forget that she was 'head of section'. She could be vindictive, bitter, and sometimes rude to the other women, and it was my first experience of bitchiness amongst adult women. On the phone, she put on a 'haughty' voice, a 'plum' in her mouth, and she could put people down with just one look, or a sharp word.

She was always polite to me, though, as I never gave her cause to be rude, and I slowly realised that she was like this with most men. I listened to the conversations as we worked, and I gathered that Georgina was 51 years old – two or three lifetimes away from me, it seemed at the time. She never gave anything else away, and it was only when she wasn't there, and the other women were 'bad mouthing' her and being bitchy behind her back, that I picked up little snippets of information. Once upon a time, possibly, she had been married, and once upon a time, possibly, she had had a son. She also had a 'friend' called George.

Georgina Lent had wonderful breasts, and her thighs were superb, and it was these attractions that made working life that little bit more bearable. She was well aware of the fact, though, and very often some of the older men would come by for a chat, and she would tease them, and flaunt herself a little as she sat in her chair. She would never appear to be doing it on purpose, it always appeared as though it was an accident that her skirt had rucked up, as her chair slid away from the desk, or that her sweater was pulled tightly over her chest, accentuating the full, curved breasts.

The men would lean against the wall behind her, casually chatting, and she knew that, over her shoulder, they were ogling the expanse of nylon covered thigh on view, and she did absolutely nothing to retain her modesty. A wonderful cock-teaser, but always trying to give the impression that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. I tried not to glare or take any notice, but I knew full well how she manipulated situations, and stayed in control of those around her.

Her 'friend' George was a strange man. He must have been nearer 60 than 50, and he appeared every now and then, at the end of the day, obviously ready to take Mrs Lent home. He worked in another part of the factory, and I never knew his surname, nor was I ever introduced to him, but it seemed pretty obvious that he was married, and Georgina was his 'bit on the side.' She went off in his flash car after work, and often she would come in and say, 'Oh, George bought me this,' or 'George told me that,' but that's all I ever got to know about the relationship.

Mind you, George felt the lash of her tongue as much as anybody else. It was obviously him on the phone on numerous occasions, and Georgina would cut him dead, and put the phone down gently, to leave him to fester, or she would bombard him with questions about where he'd been, with whom, why didn't you phone, etc, etc, and on some evenings when he waited for her, she would give him the 'silent' treatment as they made for the door together. I felt sorry for George sometimes.

I gradually got used to the job, and looked forward to going into work each day. I always waited to see what Georgina was wearing, as she was always very smart, and her body became more and more appealing, as a pleasant distraction during the working day. It was always high heels that she wore, and always a skirt or dress, or business suit, never trousers. Her nylons were dark brown, or black, and the skirts were on or just above the knee. Her favourite was a simple black dress, which clung to the curves of her middle-age figure, but it accentuated the fine breasts, her waist, the curve of her hips, and her fine arse. Her other favourite outfit was a tight, white jumper, with a light blue skirt and, again, these items managed to cling to her body wonderfully.

I always dressed smartly for work, and Mrs Lent was always very polite to me and tried to involve me in all the conversations within the group. I was still young and fit, and a bit timid, and played a lot of sport, and I don't know whether she found this a turn-on or not, but if I had a query with an invoice or something, and needed to go to her desk, there was no doubt that she would give me a display, whilst not appearing to.

Her chair would slide back on its rollers, and those stunning thighs would appear, her skirt almost up to the stocking tops, for that's what I'm sure she always wore. We would discuss the invoice problem, but I was acutely aware that she was enjoying displaying herself, and she would always give me a smile as our conversation ended. As a young man, I wanted just to reach down and run my hand up her thigh, feeling the white skin above the stockings, but I never indicated such thoughts in any way whatsoever, and this might have been part of the fun for Georgina –look, but don't touch.

The daughter of one of the other women in the section was having her 18th birthday party, and we were all invited to her house on a Saturday evening. I went along, on my own, not knowing anybody, apart from the ladies from work, and Georgina was there, also on her own. She gave the air of 'mother hen' watching over her flock, and the others tried to ignore her as much as possible but, being the gentleman, I asked her for a dance, a slow number, and took her into the middle of the room.

She seemed really chuffed that a young 19 year old had put himself out for her, and eagerly allowed me to hold her hand and put my arm around her waist, as we danced. I was taller than Georgina, and she looked up into my eyes as we just shuffled round, and she seemed very attentive, but nothing was said that could be considered even mildly flirtatious. It was purely colleague to colleague. However, I did enjoy feeling her back, smelling her perfume, and having her body up close to mine, and it only enhanced my lurid fantasies about her when I slowly played with my cock, later in bed that night.

I also had a dance with the 18 year old birthday girl but, even though her skirt was almost round her neck, and her boobs were bouncing about all over the place, she didn't arouse half as many erotic feelings in me as Georgina had.

Back at work, I continued to survey the mature head of section as often as I could, and I knew that she would innocently put on a display for me, if the situation lent itself. One afternoon, there were only 3 of us there, and Georgina and Kathy, the eldest in our section, were discussing some local chap who had got into trouble with the law for taking photos of young girls. Georgina seemed to revel in the scandal, and I just watched and listened as I carried on with the invoices.

Far from just mentioning the facts, Georgina went on to describe what sort of things this chap had got up to, and I'm sure it was just for my benefit. She slid away from her desk again, and moved her hands slowly round the curves of her breasts, in her tight sweater, to indicate that photos were being taken of girls breasts, and then her hands moved slowly down to her waist, and then over her hips to the tops of her legs, where her skirt was bunched up again. She seemed to take great delight in her display, and I couldn't help but watch and listen to this erotic conversation, done with such innocence.

Was Georgina playing up to me? Was she teasing? Was she so lonely in her sorry life, that teasing a young teenager in the office was her only way of getting some fun, before she went home to a cold, uneventful evening?

I had managed to get an old banger of a car to help me get about, and one evening I offered Georgina a lift home. None of the others would do any overtime, as they all had families, but I would take whatever I could to help the finances, and the savings account. On this occasion, a new invoice system was being introduced, with a cut-off date, and I volunteered to do a couple of hours with Georgina on a Friday night, to help get the system up and running.

George, when he came up to collect her, was told in no uncertain terms, that she had to stay behind, and Georgina seemed to take great delight in telling him that I had offered to give her a lift home later. Poor old George shuffled off with his tail between his legs, the poor sod. No leg-over tonight, then! She loved playing with his emotions.

The couple of hours went by quickly, and Georgina and I got on well. I helped her on with her coat, held the office door open for her, and then helped her into the passenger seat of my car. It was a really cold, December evening. She was wearing a thick, suede coat, 'which George bought me,' but she didn't do up the buttons and, sitting next to me in the car, the black dress had slithered up as she had got in, and for the 10 minute journey, I was aware of the wonderful, shapely, succulent thighs that were only a few inches away from my hand. As I changed gear, I knew I could just flick out my fingers and touch her leg, but I didn't, and finally, we reached her home.

I hadn't a clue where she lived, and was just guided by her directions, but I was shocked to find us going down this bumpy lane before we pulled up outside—a caravan!!

'This is home,' she said, laughing, but almost apologetically. Although just a caravan, it looked a very nice caravan, huge in size and on a large, grassy plot in a compound with about 50 others. I thought, straight away, that Georgina Lent had a bit of a sad life, but that she tried to make up for it by being bossy at work, bitchy to the other women, and, if the truth be known, she was probably jealous of their happiness, as opposed to her uneventful existence, with only a visit from George now and then to brighten her up.

She still had wonderful legs, though, and I was trying not to focus on them in the car, when Georgina suddenly said –

'Coffee, Paul? Come in and have a coffee!'

Well, how could I resist an offer from the boss, but I didn't want to seem too keen.

'Are you sure? I don't want to put you to any trouble, Mrs Lent'

'Nonsense. It's not any trouble at all.You deserve a drink after all that work, and anyway, I've only got a night in front of the TV to look forward to. Come on!' and Georgina began to open the door of the car. I waited, hoping to get another glimpse of her legs, and, sure enough, the sight was superb as Georgina eased one of her wonderful thighs apart, to put her foot on the grass outside. Her black dress moved further up her legs, and I watched in awe, but then the moment was gone, and I quickly got out and locked the car, following my boss up the short path to the caravan door.

The inside was just as nice as the outside view, and was more spacious than one would imagine. Half of the caravan was devoted to a lounge come diner, with soft sofas around the outside of three walls, and a table and chairs against the other wall. I didn't get any further, but I could see along the small passage to the edge of the kitchen, and two or three other doors leading off into other rooms. Just right for a single person, I thought.

I joined Georgina in the kitchen, as she put on the kettle and got two mugs down from a cupboard. I watched her avidly, and was determined to find out more about her. We were away from the work place, it was cold and dark outside, and perhaps I could get her to relax a little, and tell me a little more about herself. I gathered my courage and went for it!

'Did you used to be a model, Mrs Lent?'

She spun round and looked at me, a big smile on her face, almost spilling the sugar she was putting into the mugs.

'A model? Me? A model? No, no. I'm not tall enough to be a model. Why do you ask?'

I knew that I was probably wrong, but I also knew that the suggestion would be seen as a compliment by her, and it would give me a chance to let her talk about herself, and she liked doing that. It would also give me the opportunity to talk about her figure. I returned the smile, and carried on the compliments.

'Well, you have a lovely figure, and you're not short at all, are you? I just thought that you might have done some modelling at some time.' She gave me another lovely grin, and passed me with the mugs, leading us back into the lounge diner. I sat at the table and watched her sink into the soft sofa, hoping to get another look at those wonderful thighs as she sat down. Sure enough, the black dress slid up, and more and more of Georgina's legs came into view. 'I'm sorry if asking you was rude, Mrs Lent'

'Not at all, Paul. I'm flattered. Please call me Georgina, everyone else does. I didn't do anything like that, at all. When I left school in London, I went straight into office work, and I've been doing that sort of work ever since, apart from a bit of a gap a few years ago. (Was this when she had the 'never talked about' son? I didn't ask)

I knew that having her ego massaged was the one thing that she enjoyed, and so I was determined not to let her down, while at the same time I wanted to bring her out of herself, and give away a few secrets, perhaps.

'You're my boss, Georgina, and I like calling you Mrs Lent, especially at work, in front of the others, but if you're sure you don't mind, I'm happy to call you Georgina, but only in private. Is that OK?'

'You are a kind young man, Paul, and very polite. Of course that's alright. I'm over 50 you know, and you must have loads of young girls chasing you about, being tall and handsome, and fancy free,' and she casually crossed one leg over the other, the 'sshhh' of nylon on nylon sending shivers through my body.

'Not really. I haven't got a steady girlfriend, and it makes a change to be with a very attractive, intelligent woman who can still turn a man's head.' I was laying it on a bit thick now, but Georgina loved it.

'Do you really think so? I'm a bit of an old has-been, really, and I think you're just being kind.'

'No I'm not. You must've seen the other blokes in the office watching you move around. They love looking at you, don't they, and your lovely legs are ever so sexy, you know. George thinks so, doesn't he?' I stopped there, to see what the reaction to 'George' was. I'd hit a nerve, and Georgina was quick to cast him aside.

'George is just a friend, nothing more. Sometimes he gives me a lift home, and occasionally we have a drink together, but that's it. I have no more allegiance to George than to anybody else.' That was that. I had got George out of the way, but I had to make her relax again.

I took a sip from my coffee, and returned to the flattery.

'I'm sorry, very sorry. It's none of my business, Georgina, but you must admit that all the blokes come up for a chat, and enjoy looking at your figure. You enjoy it as well, don't you? That's because you are still a very attractive woman.' She'd already forgotten the mention of George.

As she spoke, she took more time in re crossing those nylon encased legs, and she knew that I would be watching her. A little more of her thigh was revealed, and my cock stirred gently in my trousers, under the table.

'Oh, Paul. It's only playful fun in the office,' she laughed. 'You don't think anybody would take me for a sexy woman, do you? Do you really think, at my age, that my legs are sexy,' and she ran the palms of her hands up from her knees to the hem of her skirt, and we both looked at the black nylon on view. 'I suppose they're not too bad, really,' and she gave out a little giggle again.

'They are sexy, Georgina, really attractive. Your whole figure is very shapely, in fact. That's why I asked if you had ever modelled. You shouldn't be coy about it. The other women in the section think you're still attractive, as well,' I lied. ( they thought she was a dragon, and would never say anything complimentary, even behind her back). Georgina was getting excited now, and warmed to the topic. Someone had come along, me, and was throwing compliments at her, about her figure, like confetti at a wedding, and it was a young teenager doing it, to boot! She loved it, and I had obviously brought a bit of warmth to the start of a weekend that was going to be dreary, uneventful and drab, probably, for Georgina Lent.

'Who'd want me to model for them, Paul, an old 51 year old, who was past her prime?' She still held her palms at the hem of her skirt, allowing me uninterrupted views right up her legs, almost to her stocking tops, and, as always, she tried to give the impression that it was just natural, she wasn't doing it on purpose at all. She carried on.

'I did let someone take a few pictures of me once, in a bikini, but that was a long time ago, and just for fun, and I can't see anyone wanting to do it now, can you?, and she took her hands away from the hem, but the dress didn't move. A wonderful sight.

'Are you asking me, Georgina? I bet half the men in the factory would love to see you in a bikini. I bet you still look great, and I bet they'd love to photograph you in a bikini, as well. I know I wouldn't mind,' and I blushed, having got carried away with myself, and the stunning view of Mrs Lent's thighs. I thought I'd better stop there and change the subject, but I knew that Georgina had enjoyed our little verbal banter, and I hoped it would happen more often.

'I told my landlady I'd be home about 8 for dinner, and I ought to be going really. Thanks for the coffee, Georgina. I promise that our conversation will remain private, and it's back to Mrs Lent on Monday, isn't it?' I got up from the table, sorry to be leaving those gorgeous legs behind, and Georgina looked a little disappointed that I was leaving

'You've been ever so kind, Paul,' she smiled, 'but I don't really think you mean half of what you said, do you?' I did a quick mental calculation about my plans for tomorrow, Saturday, and then pushed my luck.

'Look, Georgina. I'm playing football tomorrow afternoon, but in the evening, I haven't got any definite plans. This is a bit of a cheek, and please say no if you're doing anything else, or you don't fancy it, but could I take you out for something to eat?' Her smile returned again. 'I can't afford a really posh restaurant, but we could go for a 'Chinese' or 'Indian' if you can stomach it. Please say no, rather than be polite.'


End of part 1

More sex storys