Jane’s Chris Chapter 1
For a slightly built, short man, Chris wielded considerable power within his wife’s father’s company.
His attainment of managerial status owed just as much to his business talents as to his marriage, as he would remind his wife when she became a little bossy.
Jane was used to power and privilege. Not only was she tall and universally regarded as beautiful – too beautiful to have married a ‘shrimp’ like Chris, as Jane’s no-nonsense mother was apt to observe at the occasional family gatherings – but she seemed most comfortable when she was in charge. She had been the captain of her school hockey team, a rising young corporate star and now, as a ‘director without portfolio’, she outranked her husband. Technically she might, thought Chris as he waded through the sheaf of sales reports Jane’s uppity PA had dumped on his desk.
Chris shifted in his executive chair, and rubbed his inner thigh.
‘Damn!’ he said aloud, as his fingers discovered that the fine grey wool of his trousers was quite damp in the crotch.
This was the second time in the last few weeks that had happened. Chris couldn’t say when it had happened, but there it was. He felt a sudden pang of helplessness, which he overcame with the practical consideration of assessing the extent of the problem. Glancing first through the open door of his office into the quiet and empty passage beyond, he pushed his chair back and spread his legs slightly to see if the dampness was noticeable. He thought he was lucky to have worn one of his darker grey suits. The dampness was only slightly noticeable and only high up between his thighs.
Chris stood up and headed to the executive bathroom, where he assessed the damage in the room’s strong, bright lighting. Damn, he muttered again. He headed to the urinal and had unzipped his fly when a fullish feeling told him that he needed to use the cubicle. He hurried to the nearest one, dragged down his slacks and underpants and sat just in time.
I probably need more sleep, he thought as he wiped himself and got dressed again. His underpants were quite wet in the crotch, but that wouldn’t be noticeable. He had that odd, helpless feeling again. It was akin to the feeling he sometimes had when he spoke to his general manager, a woman who like his wife was several inches taller than he. It was strange. He and Jane had an adequate sex life – no worse than many other couple’s, he thought – but he always found himself fantasizing about his immediate boss’s breasts. They were certainly large, and Marina seemed to dress to accentuate them. Chris simply accepted that he was a ‘breast man’.
Chris emerged into the corridor, still thinking of his close call with nature and wondering about his damp pants. He remembered a couple of occasions during his school days when he hadn’t been so lucky. He had been late with his toilet training, and had had to go to the school nurse several times as a result of accidents, escorted on one occasion by his junior school headmistress who had found him in a hallway between lessons with wet pants. The memory still seemed fresh.
‘Chris,’ said a strong female voice behind him.
Chris was jerked from his musings and turned to see Marina, dressed as usual in a power suit and a blouse straining across her chest.
‘Oh, hi Marina,’ he said.
‘Everything alright?’ asked Marina.
'‘Yes, I was just, I had to go to…’ Chris began.
Marina laughed.
‘No, sweetie, I meant with the sales figures,’ she said, looking at Chris.
Chris wasn’t too happy about her calling him ‘sweetie’, but he hadn’t objected the first time and now had to put up with it.
‘Yeah, they’re fine,’ replied Chris. ‘I’ll be finished by 5.’
‘Good boy,’ said Marina. ‘Are you sure everything’s OK? You look a but flustered.’
Chris was 38, and didn’t like being called ‘good boy’, either. Marina was only about 45, too.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ said Chris.
He had a weird, helpless urge to say ‘I wet my pants’, but gave Marina a smile and turned to walk back to his office. He imagined that he could feel her watching him as he walked away. He hoped that there was no damp patch visible in the seat of his pants. He regretted not putting his suit jacket on before he went to the bathroom.
Safe in his office, Chris decided to go home as soon as he’d finished his paperwork. He also thought he might drop his suit off at the dry cleaners in the morning.
Chris and Jane usually drove to work separately. Chris was often in the field, and would go home from one of his appointments, and Jane worked from home at times and kept irregular hours at the office. She was home when Chris arrived.
‘Hi honey,’ she called as he opened the front door. Chris found her in the living area, reading a file. He greeted her and went to the bedroom to change.
Chris took his suit off and hung it in a plastic suit bag to take to the dry cleaner’s. He changed his underpants and put on the tracksuit he often wore at home.
‘Are you busy, honey?’ called Jane.
A thrill shot through Chris. That phrase was Jane’s code for ‘I want you to come and look after me’. The usual procedure was for Jane to lie back in the big leather chair she favoured, and for Chris to kneel between her legs and give her oral sex, sometimes moving up to fondle and kiss her breasts.
Chris didn’t mind giving his wife pleasure that way. They rarely had regular, penetrative sex these days, and Chris was used to Jane reaching down while he worked and fondling him through his tracksuit. Coming in his tracksuit didn’t seem so bad once Chris had become used to it. He even felt that the damp patch was a kind of badge of his virility. It was certainly better than slipping out of his wife’s vagina just at the wrong moment, which seemed to happen too often and which neither he nor she enjoyed. In short, Chris was excited at the prospect of a little fun, and trotted into the living room to find Jane already naked and idly fingering the full mound between her legs.
To be continued.
Please hold any comments about my unfinished stories. I have time to write again and will try my best to continue them. As usual, this story is just to get back in the groove again. 
but because I wanted to try the idea of a crucial part of the story happening outside the text. In this case, it was the hypnosis or whatever manipulation of poor Chris by his scheming wife and her psychologist friend. Hence the references to Chris’s time in the comfy chair and the apparent trigger phrase of ‘warm and safe’. I hope I wasn’t being too clever and subtle for readers to get it.