Written by Tallis

8 Aug 2006

They say that truth is stranger than fiction. Last year I was seconded to work in an office (the details of which needn't be divulged) I was assigned a PA, a very attractive woman from Galway called Niamh. She was 19 and in the classic Irish tradition had pale skin and red hair. There was an underlying insecurity about her though, and this manifested itself in the way she always sought compliments about her appearence. It was all very innocent to begin with, and I deliberately avoided getting too involved. As a result, she began upping the anti. First thing in a morning she'd complain that she wasn't geting any, and that her boyfriend was incredibly unattentive. She said she always wore stockings for him, as she did at work. Again I didn't react, but then she said he'd complained she had "saggy boobs", something that was self evidently untrue. Niamh pushed her chest forward and asked my opinion on the matter. I gave the merest glance and confirmed it wasn't.

A few days later, Niamh brought a Mills & Boon into the office. She wondered if I was capable of writing a pastiche of the genre. I told her that even if I could, I was much too busy, yet she kept on asking. Eventually I relented and had a glance at it. I was quite surprised at how racy it was to be honest, but Niamh told me they were colour coded now and this was the steamiest version. Probably as a result of vanity, I created a story for her, a kind of period piece, set during an English Civil War convention. The shy bespectacled teacher; the demure girl next door. Their inhibitions lifting during the costume ball. "Are you for King or Parliament Madam." "I am for King, Sir." Then God bless you, Madam." All inevitably leading to the bodice ripping episode on the four poster bed upstairs. Niamh insisted we stayed late at work so she could read it. By then I was, to be honest, curious as to its effect. When she'd finished reading it, Iaked her what she'd thought. She replied that the seat of the chair was getting damp. Her only complaint was the euphemisms I'd used, which were consistent with the genre. It was clear this was just a prelude to what she really wanted. By now my secondment was nearly finished and I was due to return to London. Niamh wanted to me to create a fantasy for her before she left, but she wanted gutteral, anglo-saxon, not the Mills & Boon shite. By now I was pretty much in her power, and the day before I was due to leave, we stayed late. To set the scene, Niamh was wearing quite a classy tweed skirt. She had very shapely legs and was wearing (I'd assumed) stockings. Rather than a blouse, she was wearing quite a clingy black top. She was also wearing glases, which I'd stipulated, and red lipstick. I took her into the office of the big cheese (female as it happens) and announced the fantasy was that she'd come to audition for a part in a high production porn film. The look on her face, I'll never forget it. We'd never even touched each other prior to then. "Okay." she said. "What do I have to do?" .........