Security! Security! Part Two
By Wanderer
My wife Janice leaves me in good hands.


This is adult material. Please do not read if you are under age 21 or laws in
your country forbid you to do so. Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.

Earlier parts of this story are scattered all over the Wanderer bookshelf.
They should be read in the following order:

Who's In the Closet Now? (Parts 1, 2, and 3).

We're Back In the Closet Again (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party (Parts 1 to 5).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue Two (Part 1).

My Big Deal Social Wedding.

Marriage Can Be Fun? (Parts 1 to 4).

The Board of Directors Meets My Wife.

The Executive Officers Meet My Wife.

Executive Officers Don't Get No Respect.

Security! Security! (Part 1).

Security! Security! (Part 2).

This Part Two can be read by itself, but it might make more sense to you if
you read "Security! Security! (Part 1)" first if you haven't read it yet.

Copyright 2004 by Wanderer.

I enjoyed sitting at my desk, looking out the office windows toward Kate
Olson's desk, watching her. She was my security guard and my executive
assistant, appointment secretary, and girl Friday. She was 6'4" tall, as I
said before, with breast size to match her height. She had massive mountainous
mammaries. She was so big she would have been one of those women to opt for a
breast reduction, except for the fact that she had such powerful pectoral
muscles holding up those boobs that there was not the slightest sign of sag.
And don't think she didn't know what she had going for her. She would come to
work impeccably dressed in a very classy business suit, so I would try to keep
the heat up on the thermostat at our end of the executive floor, high enough
to make her uncomfortable. Off with the jacket, yeah! The moment I waited for
all day! She would throw her shoulders back, pull off one sleeve, then the
other, off came the jacket to be followed by a body stretch, pushing those
boobs out from what seemed like the back of the desk to the front of the
desk-well, almost, it was a pretty wide desk. In the meantime my eyes are
glued to that magnificent body on display and I'm pleasuring myself. I always
buy suits that come with two pairs of pants, and I keep the spare pair of
pants at the office.

So one day here comes Kate into my office.

"Yes, Ms. Olson, can I help you?" I say. She's got her jacket off as I had
managed to get the heat up to 85 degrees Fahrenheit. Even I'm sweating. Is it
Ms. Olson, or the heat in the office? I wasn't sure.

"Dammit," she says, "I'm so bored again."

"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe I can invite back those seventy-five kidnappers that you
invented the last time when you got bored," I say, sarcastically. "Or maybe I
can assign you some more work, how about that?"

"Screw the work," she says. "You'd think with this body I'd get plenty of
action. Hell, I haven't had a date in six months. I'm so fuckin' strong I
scare off any prospects. I'm beginning to think being strong and muscular is
more of a curse than a blessing. I go sit in a bar, and some drunken jerk
comes up to me. 'Hi-ya babe, can I buy you a drink?' 'Sure, big boy,' I say,
and he's ready to take me home. I stand up, the top of his head comes to my
shoulder, if he's lucky. 'Oh, I forgot,' he says, 'got to be at work at
6:00a.m. tomorrow. See ya' around some time.'

"I go to the gym, I'm flat on my back, doing bench presses. Some hunk sees me,
my boobs sticking straight up in the air, leers at me and comes over and says,
'Hey, sweetheart, want me to spot for you?'

"Sure," I say. "Then I take three deep breaths, pushing my chest way out there
for his pleasure. By now his prick is sticking straight out and it's as long
as a dumbbell handle, and I pull the bench press bar off the barbell stand and
start my presses. Hell, it's only five hundred pounds. I always wear a loose
fitting sweatshirt at the gym to cover my upper body, but I can't help it,
five hundred pounds make my biceps swell up even under the long sleeves. The
guy looks at the weight, looks at my arms, gulps, and takes off with an 'Oh,
excuse me, got to use the bathroom, you go ahead without me.' What am I
supposed to do? Drop the weight to two hundred pounds? Hell, I can press that
with one arm. I could practically curl that with one arm! What the fuck am I
going to do?"

"Now, now, Ms. Olson, no need to use profanity," I tsk tsk. "I'm sure you can
express yourself adequately with normal verbiage."

"Oh, you asshole," she shocks me, "don't take that holier-than-thou attitude
with me. I know what you're doing back here. You're sitting there behind your
desk and I can see your upper arm moving. You always use your left hand. Are
you left handed? Do you ever use both hands? I hear it's so much better that
way," she smirks.

"Now, now," I try to calm her. I can see she's getting mad. "I do get an itch
sometimes. On my thigh," I alibi. "Must be an erratic nerve."

"Erratic nerve, my ass," she says. "I've tested it. I sit out there, take my
jacket off, stretch, flex my arms, inhale deeply, that left arm of yours gets
frantic. You're having all the fun and I just feel like you're using me to get
your kicks. I'm just here for exhibition, I get nothing back!"

"You get a nice salary, Ms. Olson," I offer, hopefully.

"Salary be damned. I've got needs, just like you. Your wife Janice told me
that when she's away on a business trip you've got some live-in French maid
floozy at your big mansion that takes care of your needs, and that's OK with
your wife. Matter-of-fact I hear the maid is your wife's childhood companion,
so they both share you, you lucky bastard. But how about me? I get shit!"

I could see that Ms. Olson was getting angrier by the minute. By now her chest
was heaving with her anger, threatening to pop every button on her already too
tight blouse. I was becoming seriously worried as, although I'm a six footer,
anybody who can bench press five hundred pounds causes me some concern when
they confront me.

I needed to placate her. "Now, Ms. Olson, perhaps we need to assist you. I
understand Mr. Webb, in accounting, recently got divorced. I could speak to
him on your behalf ... "

"What? That little twerp?" she interrupted me. "Talk around the water cooler
is that's why his wife divorced him. He's got a little twerp," she giggled.
"No, I want you! I want to find out what you're hiding there underneath your
desk. You're using me for your self-gratification, it's only fair I get to use
you!"

"Now, Ms. Olson," I said, in my most soothing voice, "after all, I'm an
executive vice president, and you're merely an office assistant ... "

She interrupted me again. "Yeah, but you're a man and I'm a woman, and a very
strong woman at that," she grinned. Why I bet I'm even stronger than you," she
taunted me.

Now I knew she was stronger than me. I mean, I'm six feet tall and in good
physical shape, but this woman was hired to be my security guard, 6'4" tall,
and muscles like a stevedore-bigger than a stevedore. She'd been here six
months and I'd seen her with her suit jacket off and wearing a short sleeve
blouse. A stevedore would have trouble matching her, muscle for muscle. And
she was sexier than any stevedore I ever saw. I was beginning to sweat.

"You know, Kate, my wife Janice is on an extended business trip to Asia, and
as head of North American Operations I'm required to remain here at the head
office. You need to honor my commitment to my spouse."

"Yes, and how about your commitment to your French maid in that palace you
live in?" she asked. "Am I also required to honor that?"

"The arrangements between my wife and myself and our servant staff are none of
your business," I snapped. "You have no right to question me on that!"

"Well, it looks to me like your arrangements are flexible," she summarized.
"We need to flex them a little more to make room for me."

"But why me?" I questioned.

"Why not you?" Kate asked. "It's you because your wife Janice said it could be
you. She gave me permission. She told me that because she was going away on
such a long overseas business trip you probably wouldn't be satisfied just to
be with your French maid at home and that after a week or so you were going to
start looking around. You're used to having two women, your wife and your
French maid, Alice. She told me, 'Do whatever it takes, keep him in line. I
don't want him looking in bars. I've had you thoroughly checked by our medical
department and I know you have no sexual diseases. God knows who or what he's
going to pick up in a bar. I'm liberal minded. I share my husband Frank with
my childhood chum, Alice. On our wedding night we even had a threesome. I turn
him over to her whenever she feels the urge, even if I'm around. If he looks
or talks like he's going to stray you screw him over-over and over. And even
if he doesn't look like he's going to stray but you want him, you take him. I
don't mind sharing. Better you than some bar whore.'

"And it's you because I can't even pick up a guy in a bar, although I could,
literally. I scare off every guy when they see me stand up. I can't get
anybody in a gym when they get a good look at the weights I'm lifting or they
see my muscles, and I see you every day and I know you're already enjoying
what you see-I know why you keep matching pairs of pants for your suits in
that closet there. I may be only your office assistant, but I'm not stupid.
You use me for your little pleasures. You owe me."

Well, this was going too far. I had to put an end to it. "I'm sorry, Ms.
Olson," I began to say.

"Oh, shut up," she ordered me, "I've heard enough shit from you!"

That was no way to talk to your employer. Such lack of respect could very well
be cause for dismissal. "Kate ... " I started, indignantly. But she would have
none of it. She grabbed my tie and pulled me out of my chair to my feet. Now I
understand what people mean when they talk about being a head taller. She had
her four inch heels on, and with her 6'8" total height I was looking at her
shoulder blades. I could have rested my chin on the shelf that was her bosom
if I lowered my head a little. Just the thought of doing that had my penis
aroused, but since we were standing chin to chest Kate just had to reach down
to squeeze my erection in the palm of her hand. Well, that was such a shock to
my nervous system I practically creamed right then and there. I suddenly got
so weak in the knees I had to grab on to Kate's shoulders to keep from
collapsing. Wow! How hard! I could feel the trapezius muscle humping up her
neck and out to her deltoids. I was feeling so woozy I had trouble holding
myself up and my hands slipped out to her deltoids. I didn't know they could
implant bowling balls in shoulders. The reaction I was getting in my groin
made me even less steady and I started to sink to my knees, but Kate's hands
on my waist steadied me and lifted me. She lifted me until my feet were a few
inches off the floor. My hands came to rest on her biceps. Talk about bowling
balls in her shoulders. These biceps felt like bowling balls in her upper
arms. I could feel them moving as she lowered me slowly back to my own feet.

"Are you OK?" she questioned, somewhat anxiously.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, "I'm just feeling a little weak 'cause I haven't had
lunch yet," I alibied.

"Well, I guess if you're feeling so weak now is the time to take advantage of
you," she giggled.

"Now, Ms. Olson," I said, while staring at her prominent nipples protruding
from her prominent breasts, "I would suggest that you desist from your
aggressive behavior. I shall be required to report you to the Human Resources
Department should you persist ... "

"Oh, can it!" She ordered me, exasperated. "What are you going to say? Ooohhh,
Ms. Olson accosted me? The big bad lady scared me to death! Boo hoo hoo! Your
wife Janice already considers you a wimp! Imagine! Six feet tall, a college
athlete, and you act like a wimp, you're going to go crying to the Human
Resources Department about the big bad lady office assistant pulling your
pecker. You know your wife looks closely at any sexual harassment reports that
are filed with HRD while she's away. And the word gets out all over the
company from the HRD blabbermouths. Frank Thomas- Witherington, Executive Vice
President of North American Operations, crybaby wimp!"

She was right, and I knew it. You can't command the respect of the company
employees if you're on record as complaining about being the object of sexual
harassment by a female. They'd all laugh at me behind my back. If you can't
handle your office assistant how can you control the largest division in the
company?

I stood there, perplexed. Kate had a look of triumph on her face. She picked
up my phone receiver, called the switchboard and said authoritatively, "Hold
all phone calls, please!"

"What's going on now?" I said, a little tremble in my voice.

"You're about to find out," Kate said, as she moved towards me in a menacing
manner. All of a sudden her leg was between my two legs, my body was rising on
her thirty-two inch thigh as she flexed at her knee and placed her four inch
heel on the seat of my chair that I had just vacated. There I am, this six
foot guy, sitting on the massively muscular thigh of my executive assistant.

"Comfy?" she asked.

"Hell, no! Put me down!" I'm pushing against her thigh, trying to get off, and
I can feel the bundles of muscle fibers of her quadriceps under her short
skirt. She's holding me with one hand around the right side of my ribs,
holding me in place easily, while she was unbuttoning the buttons of her short
sleeve blouse with her other hand. Gradually I stopped struggling as her
massive bosom started to come into view. I was fascinated by the sight. Even
my wife Janice who was considerably well endowed didn't approach this enormous
expanse of mammaries. I couldn't help it, my penis was expanding along the
thigh of this dominant woman.

"M ... m ... m ... , like what you see, Frank?" she asked.

"No, this is embarrassing," I answered, but my prick was giving me away. "Then
what's this?" she asked, running her hand along the length of my expanding
penis, and raising and lowering her thigh that my body was riding on by
flexing the sole of her foot on the seat of my chair.

I tried to push myself off her thigh by pushing against her relaxed right
bicep. Even relaxed as her arm was now I couldn't encircle the upper arm girth
with both my hands, and there was very little give.

"I can flex my tricep for you, if you'd like," Kate said.

Would I like? Would I like? Well, I wasn't about to let her see how excited
the prospect made me so I said, "Why, sure, why not? Let's see what we're
paying you for." Holding her right hand straight at her side Kate tensed her
arm. That tricep looked like there was an iron horseshoe going to jump out of
her skin. I gingerly traced its outline with my fingers. Something must have
told her she was having an effect on me. Maybe it was the perspiration
breaking out on my forehead.

"My, my, Mr. Witherington, I see you appreciate a woman's muscles. Mmmm, I
wonder what impression this might make on you?" And she flexed her bicep.
Well, b-o-o-i-i-n-n-g-g, maybe it wasn't as big as a bowling ball, but it got
pretty close. It had one helluva peak, with a big throbbing vein running its
length, and some pretty good size veins running in and out perpendicular to
that long one. What a peak to that muscle! It was almost like her big bicep
had a little pet bicep all its own sitting on top of it. I ogled it. I touched
it. I kissed it. I almost creamed right then and there. Kate was smiling an
all-knowing smile, but then she diverted my attention from that huge bicep by
putting her flexing arm down and continuing to unbutton the remaining closed
buttons of her blouse.

My wife Janice had warned me about Ms. Olson when she informed me I would have
a female protector stationed just outside my office door. "I need to caution
you, Frank. You have a reputation for a propensity to use your corporate
status to take advantage of the opposite sex. As if I and our French maid
Alice weren't enough for you to handle," she added, scornfully. "Now let me
tell you, don't make that mistake with Ms. Olson. I subjected her to intense
scrutiny before selecting her for this position since you and your well-being
are very important to me. I have no desire to have to expend my energy on
training another spouse so I needed to make sure she had sufficient skills to
see to it that you remain safe. Besides her martial arts skills and her tall
stature at 6'4" she had a deceptive weight. She weighs two hundred fifty
pounds, but she doesn't look it because most of her weight is concentrated in
her heavy musculature. Besides those heavy calves and thick thighs she has
very broad shoulders, as you will see for yourself when she comes to work, and
she has biceps as big or maybe even bigger than your sister, and certainly
bigger than mine." So I had been warned, but I wasn't prepared for Ms. Olson's
aggressive posture.

"Take my blouse off my shoulders," she ordered after she had unbuttoned all
the buttons.

"I won't!" I rebelled.

She tightened the grip of her hand on the side of my ribs, and I felt the ribs
bending inward towards my lung. "Take my blouse off my shoulders!" she ordered
again.

Hey, I'm no fool. "I will!" I yelled as I moved my hands up to her shoulders
and pushed the blouse back and down around her arms.

"Now, take my bra straps off my shoulders!" she ordered me.

"No, no, I can't do that," I almost blubbered, as I pulled eagerly on the bra
straps. Well, I exposed the most beautiful set you've ever seen. They were
sized for a 6'4" woman. They were oversized for a 6'4" woman. And removing the
bra did nothing to create any sag. Now I could see her pectoral muscles for
the first time and I could understand why there was no sag and her breasts
were so outstanding. I also understood why she could bench press five hundred
pounds. Those pecs were thick slabs of muscle, with striations galore that
became visible as she moved her arms to hold my body steady on her thigh.

"See anything you like?" she asked me again.

"My God, you are one beautiful woman!" I proclaimed, and I dropped all my
inhibitions. I threw my hands around her powerful neck, feeling the sweeps of
her trapezius and then down her back to her wide spread latissimus. My primal
urge just overcame any reservations I may have had. Seated on her powerful
muscle gorged thigh, my feet dangling above the floor, feeling the power
flowing through her powerful trapezius and the vast expanse of her back, I was
overcome with uncontrollable emotion. The hell with my wife Janice, the
president and CEO of the company. The hell with Alice, the buxom French maid
waiting for me at home as the surrogate for my absent wife. This was here and
now. I smothered her neck with kisses as she held me tightly against her
bosom.

It was as if Kate knew instinctively what was going on in my brain. She had a
big grin on her beautiful face, threw her shoulders back and took a deep
breath so that her breasts rose up to meet my face. I buried a prominent
nipple in my mouth and brought my hands from her back to encircle the immense
breast I had my mouth on. My two hands weren't enough to do that firm breast
justice, but it was a good start.

"Going to report me to the Human Resources Department now?" Kate whispered in
my ear.

"Yes!" I shot back between mouthfuls of succulent nipple, but of course she
knew I wasn't serious, I was having too much fun.

Since I had stopped struggling against Kate's powerful grasp she could now
hold me balanced on her thigh with just one hand, so she used the other hand
to caress the ever lengthening penis inside my pants. Well, it was just too
much. I shot my load all along my pants leg, down to my calf, and into my shoe
and sock. "Gee, I hope you have the second pair of pants here that goes with
this suit," she giggled. For a large woman she certainly had a cute sense of
humor.

"This isn't fair," she said. "I started this because I'm bored. And I'm
lonely. I scare guys off. I don't scare you off because you have to be here.
But you just had all the fun. I've heard rumors of your prowess. Doing your
wife many times every night. I hear she's insatiable. Doing your maid when
your wife is away. Now you're going to show me what you got!"

"Oh, no, I'm not having sex with you!" I said, playing hard-to-get. "It's bad
enough that you're sexually harassing me, I certainly won't tolerate any
sexual intercourse!" I hope she doesn't listen to me.

"Well, it doesn't look like you have much choice, does it?" she answered. And
then she put her right hand on the left side of my chest, lifted me off her
thigh and my two hundred pounds onto her hip, holding me tightly with just her
one hand. With the other hand she swept everything off the top of my desk and
slammed my body on my back onto the top of my desk, just like Joyce, my
Engineering Vice President, had been doing until Kate scared her off. These
women were certainly doing more work on the top of my desk than I ever did in
my role as an executive vice president.

"Well, these pants might as well come off," said Ms. Olson. "They're all
soiled now anyway." Holding me down with one powerful arm she grabbed one of
my feet, pulled the shoe off it, then removed the shoe from the other foot,
undid my pants belt and unzipped the zipper, pulled my pants down to my ankles
and then off. My shorts she just ripped, exposing me in all my glory.

"Mmmmm, not bad," the 6'4" Amazon commented, holding my apparatus between
thumb and forefinger and giving it a thorough inspection. "Janice told me you
had quite a ding-dong," she giggled. "She gave me her permission to try it
out. Let's get to it!"

She was still holding me down on top of the desk with her one massive arm and
as I got some air back into my lungs I tried to remove the hand holding me
pinned to the desk. The massive feel of her biceps under my fingers left me
speechless. They certainly felt bigger than the biceps of my wife Janice, who
only measured twenty-two inches. Janice had warned me that Kate was even an
inch or so bigger in the biceps than my sister Maddy, although of course Kate
was almost a foot taller than Maddy. But other than when Maddy threw me in the
hall coat closet, along with her future husband, James Pettigrew Witherington
III when he came to visit me over that first summer, I had never had a
close-up encounter with my sister's biceps. We were a very straight-laced
family. I mean, you don't walk up to your sister and say "May I feel your
twenty-five inch bicep, sis?" Now I've felt my wife's twenty-two inch biceps.
She makes me pay homage to her superior physique every time we engage in
sexual intercourse by making me plant my lips on her flexed muscle. It keeps
that little edge of fear flowing through my veins that lets her control my
actions so easily. But that extra three or four inches that Kate seemed to
have over my wife Janice makes a big difference in peak and width, as I was
now experiencing as I tried to force my two hands to surround her upper arm.

"How ... how...big are these?" I gasped. Just making sure, you know.

"Only twenty-six inches," she giggled. "I understand I have your sister beat
by an inch or so, but then I am a lot taller. But you've never had sex with
your sister have you?"

"Of course not," I answered, indignantly.

"Well then, you're in for a special treat," she said.

Still holding me down with one hand Kate climbed on top of me, her two
powerful thighs on my sides, and leaned down to capture my mouth with hers,
her tongue dominating. I knew I could shuck her off me. All I had to do was
grab her inside arm, lift and shove to the outside. I grabbed her bicep-my two
hands couldn't fully encircle it-and I pushed. And I pushed. And I
pushed-nothing. It was as if I wasn't even trying. In the meantime Kate placed
me inside her. I gave up. Enjoy the ride, and what a ride it was!

As I came down from my high I knew I had to give something back. "You won't
have to get my morning coffee anymore, Ms. Olson," I gasped.

"I think I'm going to enjoy coming to work from now on," Kate said.